


People Help the People

by cigarettekisses



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:09:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettekisses/pseuds/cigarettekisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Harry tries to kill himself. He fucks that up. Harry isn’t capable of falling in love. Louis fucks that up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There is no such thing as a good way of waking up and discovering that you’re alive after trying to kill yourself. When you commit suicide, you kinda have this sort of mind set that there’s no turning back after this. You just … let it all go and leave everything behind. So when you wake up and come to the realization that you’re still breathing in and out the same air and you’re coming back to the same shitty life that you tried to the best of what you can to leave is just, well disappointing. 

He wanted all of it to end. He wanted to leave every single thing he has now. And now he’s just going to get forced to go back and accept the reality that of all the things he is a failure with, he also happens to be a failure with suicide. Who even fucks that thing up, right? Who tries to kill himself and still manages to end up alive? Well … him. That’s the only answer he knows to that question and now he feels so silly.

He can very well hear the voice of the nurses and the smell of the hospital. Even without opening his eyes, he can distinguish where he is. Especially after being a regular patient over and over again before he reached the age of ten. He was a sickly child ever since he was born, always getting sick even from the simplest and smallest kinds of illness. His body somehow is unfortunately able to turn a simple case of the sniffles to a full blown body-shaking and convulsion-inducing fever that leaves him looking and feeling like a dehydrated fruit even when he already has an entire medical team to his aid. But since his mother was always there to trace soothing circles at the back of his hand with her thumb and have a beaming smile to readily extinguish his depressing, weak gaze, he never felt like he was supposed to give up or to even consider being generally unhappy. He knew how much it hurt her and he knows how much his sister hated him for it. Gemma, young Gem was never allowed a normal life. Just 2 years older than him, she was always forced to be in the hospital and watch out for him with their mother rather than enjoy the company of friends her age. She was always gloomy and was always sulking in the corner, twiddling with her hair or glaring at him when he caught her eye, but Anne, his mum, always said that she was just having a bad day or to ignore her. But now, as he slowly opens his eyes to peer around, he knows that Anne won’t be around, and even Gemma, who with her stabbing stares would feel very much like home, isn’t here.

The room is an eye sore, with nothing but strikingly white painted walls and curtains of the same colour and shade. There’s a couch at the other end just opposite the bed, which, if he may say so, is not comfortable at all. It might be because he hates the hospital scenery so much with white hot burning rage or it could also be because he promised that he’d never set foot on another hospital, unless it’s someone else’s room he’s going to visit. But it could also be because he’s trying to see more of the room and he’s straining his neck because he can’t quite find the button to recline the backrest. 

Just then a nurse enters the room and chuckles.

“Having a little trouble, I see?”

The nurse has a cute nose. Yes, it’s a bit weird that of all things he could’ve noted, it’s the button nose that he finds absolutely adoring. There’s nothing much to say about the hair since it’s technically not there. Oh no, no, no. He’s not bald, like, eagle bald and he’s not old too. It’s just … cut that way. 

“Already finding my suffering amusing, I see?” he retorts. Realizing how incredibly unsexy and undesirable his position right now should be, he holds back and mumbles something incoherent before looking away and letting the nurse pretty much manhandle him while adjusting the pillows beneath him and positioning them where he finds them comfortable.

“Is this alright?” He looks like a puppy, he points out to himself. He’s got strong grip and gravelly hands, which distracts from his big brown eyes that seems to look sad all the time but when you concentrate, he really does look like a very, very manly puppy. Which is weird, but he manages to pull off anyways.

He nods in reply. He’s not his type. Did he say he’s bisexual by the way? Well now you know. The nurse adjusts his uniform before telling him to just press the red button right above his bedside table if he needed anything else, then he smiles at him for one last time and exits the room, leaving him to himself once again. He must be really good in bed though, he bites the inside of his cheek. He looks all puppy-eyed and sad but he must be an animal in bed.

Well, he should be. Most of the people who act all innocent and timid end up acting like sex-starved beasts when lights are dim. You do have to go and make an effort to get them drunk enough to get naked but once they do, there’s no turning back.

He once had a girl, a sweet poor innocent girl who was just having her beer alone at the corner of the club. She was pretty hot, though she was standing up with her shoulders slumped and she was wearing clothes that are not at all suited for such a great night. Let’s just say she looked like a cocoon because of her dress and her sweater and her tights. But she had long, flowing brunette hair tied up in a messy bun and a pair of hazel eyes behind her big, dark-rimmed glasses and that’s enough to make Harry want to make a mess of her, to fuck her up.

When she asked after a minute or two if he wanted to go sneak to the bathroom of the club and “get done with the business” he hesitated for a while. Sure she’ll be a nice fuck but who would want to have a whining girl on your bed who expects you to marry her while you’re having a hangover? But then she loses the glasses and looks right into his eyes and asks “Are we going to do this or not?” And without second guesses he’s finishing his own drink and they’re pushing across the sweaty bodies of the people who were dancing to some shitty techno music the DJ was offering them.

Well, turns out she wasn’t wearing any underwear at all and it just takes him a few seconds to strip her all of her clothes and they’re fucking like wild animals. Well, more like she’s fucking the hell out of him since she even provided the condom and she wouldn’t let go of him till he was sucked of all the bodily fluids he has.

In the morning, there was no needy girl whining on his bed. There was no one asking him to marry her. There was no one on his bed. In fact, he wasn’t even on his bed. He was just passed out in front of the club and smells like piss and puke. Then he goes home after deciding that he needs some paracetamol and a good shower.

Which reminds him, he needs to take a piss. How his thoughts go from getting a good shower to taking a piss, he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s because shower is water after all and he heard somewhere that thinking of shower and flowing rivers and leaky faucets can make you want to take a piss. Now he knows they’re true because he badly needs to go to the loo. 

He tries to straighten himself up and go to the comfort room himself, wherever that is he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to figure that out once he’s in the hall way. But then he realizes that his body is actually too weak to stand up and drag the dripping IV and he flops back to the bed, making a dip in the mattress as he struggles to go back to his spot. He turns his eyes away and feels disgusted with himself as he pushes the red button and alarms the nurses of his need of assistance. 

Then comes the same teenager, well he assumes he’s a teenager, who assisted him with his earlier discomfort. He has the same reassuring and friendly smile plastered across his face. If he wasn’t abject to much embarrassment right now he would have teased him about looking like he’s always high. Maybe he is high now that he thinks about it. With those tons of medical shit he could easily get his hands on, who knows what this guy has been taking when he’s not walking the halls and making rounds. Oh my God, he could be walking around high and people are just passing it off as he’s just a little too fond of doing a job in a hospital and making his dreams come true with taking care of patients in depressing states and constantly peeing and pooping themselves and making his life miserable. How could he even smile? 

“What may I help you with?” he waves a hand in front of him. Looks like he’s been trying to get his attention for quite a while now and he’s getting a little nervous. He coughs and clears his throat before speaking, unsure of his voice. He gets it out in one single word

“Ikindahavetotakeapissandthisisembarrassingpleasedon’tlaughatme”.

The lad chuckles and takes the bed pan out from somewhere Harry cannot see. He pulls a box of gloves and takes a pair before even touching Harry. After it’s all done and he is fuming red and his face is all hot and he’s pretty sure he looks very much like a tomato the guy says,

“I’m Liam by the way.”

He chokes out a small voiced “Harry.” 

They ended up talking for ages. Now Liam is already comfortably seated on the chair nearby and they’re chatting away about the most random things they could think of. It’s basically all Harry talking but Liam chimes in with a comment every now and then or breathlessly laughs about everything that he says. By this time Harry has already figured out that he likes Liam. Not like like though just a little more than an acquaintance, not enough to make him want to fuck him. Though Liam’s innocent laughs and pure humour is warming his heart. It’s quite refreshing to know someone who’s just really happy about everything he does. But he’s still not throwing out the idea that he’s just high out of the window. He likes that theory.

There was a cough and Liam jumps out of his seat and looks down on his wrist watch. He murmurs something about being late for some check up on a little boy and he goes straight out of the room, passing an acknowledging look to the man who has just made himself noticed.

It was Robin, of course it was Robin, who would it be anyways? It’s not as if Harry has any friends or family who’d want to visit him. Especially as he’s sure that no one actually knew about his – “I was just informed of the … incident, Harry. I’ll make sure to have you transferred to a better hospital first thing in the morning.” – incident as Robin calls it.

“You don’t have to bother. Just get me out of here as soon as possible and I’ll be forever grateful.” He fakes a smile and looks straight at the other man, who can’t seem to look him in the eye, but he fails to hide every drop of sarcasm.

“Are you … sure about that? If it’s because of your mum—” Don’t you dare bring her up in this, he wanted to say. But he knows that fighting back right now wouldn’t get him anywhere out of this place.

Sure he would enjoy chatting up with Liam every now and then but that doesn’t make this hospital less of a hellhole for him. There’s just too much about hospitals that he can’t shake out of him. Too much memory buried at the back of his mind, of both Anne and Gem.

“Please … please just get me out of here.” Robin just nods and breathes out a sigh of what Harry assumes is relief.

He never really did care for Harry. Sure he did sober up and got his life back on track and never laid a hand again on Harry but it will always be there. What happened had happened and Harry is willing to make him guilty for the rest of his life and pay for every single tear it cost him. He will torment Robin for as long as he can to take revenge for Anne and for Gem. He promised and he shall keep it.

He falls asleep as soon as Robin agrees to get him out of the hospital. There’s nothing to talk about anymore anyways and he’d rather get some eye shut than be awkward and pretend to be interested in whatever there is that his step dad has to talk about. He’s normally talking shit about some person in his work anyways or uncomfortably trying to push the talk of the weather or politics or football which Harry is and will never be particularly interested about. He’d like his peace of mind and silence very much.  _Thank you and all but you have to go_ , he looks pointedly at Robin before turning to his side.

He wakes up from a very good dream and he wishes he didn’t. Because it was just too good and he wishes he could stay there forever. It was simple, honestly, some memory of the usual things when he is sick. But now, there’s no one on his couch and he’s all alone inside the room. He opens the drawer nearby and tries to fish out his phone. Hopefully the staff didn’t think it was necessary to hand it to someone else. Just in case he does something stupid. It’s not like he can do anything with just a mobile anyway, but who knows if the police was even here.

He makes a face,  _ohmyfuckinggod_ , it just dawned to him that there could be a report about this, if the person who found him did think it was necessary to call the police after calling the hospital. This cannot get any worse than this already is. Now he wishes that he could talk to the person who saved his life. Probably to smack him in the head and ask over and over again why he thought it would be a great idea to prolong a person’s life when he was already finishing it himself. Then he’d probably try to kill whoever it was too. He could bring whoever that person is to hell with him. 

When he tried to kill himself, there was no such thing as a ceremonious ritual or whatever those nosy people in television keep talking about. He didn’t go through phases of remorse or anything. He wasn’t even sure he has decided on it. He just felt so empty and so worn out and he knew to himself that there would be no way out of it, that no amount of sleep or rest would make him feel any better. And that’s just it.

He popped as much sleeping pills he has inside his bedside drawer, or at least what’s left of his bouts on insomnia for weeks on end. Then he drank all the leftover alcohol he has on his study table. He felt numb, but he wasn’t scared for some reason. Most would be, he thought, because he surely would be if only it wasn’t his plan. Then he sloppily filled the bathtub and climbed on it, fully-clothed. And he kinda just …laid there. Slowly drifting off and waiting for all of it to end. They say that when you die you’d see a bright white light and all of your memories would come rushing back to you, but it didn’t. He expected to see Gem and Anne and maybe even Robin but he didn’t see any of them, all that he saw while he was waiting for that last drag of breath was the soft ripple made by the dripping shower as little droplets of water fell.

That would be so depressing to tell to other people, it might even scare people away from trying to commit suicide themselves, but to him, it was the most peaceful and serene he has felt for such a long time. It was calm and that was all he could ask for after all those times of anxiousness and paranoia that he felt before. It just … stopped hurting.

“An institution you say?” it was the voice of his step-father. A little hard to hear because they were outside his room but he can still make out what they were talking about.

“Yes, if you’re willing to sign for him. It would better for him to stay in an institution. It’s for his own good.” 

“But he’s already 18. Doesn’t that mean that he should decide for himself?”

“Well it seems to me that he is not only emotionally unstable but mentally unstable as well. He tried to kill himself. Therefore he is still considered to be under your care and you’re listed as his guardian.”

How dare they talk of him like that? It’s not like he’s a deranged psychotic who will kill all of them if he snapped. He tried to kill himself, not murder someone else. He cups his ears and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to hear any of these foul words that are being exchanged about him, as if he’s just some animal that can be kicked and tossed somewhere else when you get tired of feeding and taking care of it. Even animals don’t get that treatment, then why should he be suffering it? It would have been a little better if it wasn’t his step-father who was talking to the doctor because he knows that Robin is just trying his best to get rid of him.

He simply doesn’t want to get his name tainted because of his association to someone who tried to kill himself. What would the articles say about him, right? Robin Twist, famous director, harbouring a psychotic step-son under his wing? They’re going to make a big joke out of him. Maybe that’s even why he was trying to get him into a better hospital, not for his own good but for his career. So it’s a lot easier to hide and he can just bribe them not to speak about anything just in case it comes out that Harry Styles was admitted to the hospital for trying to kill himself. 

Robin enters the room and tries to speak but Harry goes first. “Do you have my phone?” he holds out an open palm waiting for him to give the mobile to him. Robin just looks at him, confused but then soon remembers something and fishes a phone out of his pocket and gently lays it on his hand. He didn’t even come any closer, as if he was disgusted or he’d get some sort of disease from Harry if he touches him. 

His step-father didn’t mention anything about getting him locked up in a mental institution. It would be good, only if he didn’t know that Robin is fully capable of showing up and just getting him dragged in a straitjacket before he could say no. He needs to get out of this place. Fast.

That night, he could hear the people talking. Quick mentions of him being a  _“problematic child”_  or that _“poor little rich boy”_ , they were all sharing their ideas about him and sometimes he does wish he didn’t hear any of those. But they were too loud, probably expecting that he was already fast asleep, especially since he has nothing else to do. They were making fun of him, making fun of his misery. But he knew one person who he could at least try to get to help him. That Liam guy might at least be willing to help him find some place to stay instead of being forced to go home with his step-father who might drive him to an institution himself if he falls asleep while they’re on their way home. Surely he wouldn’t be letting him drive to his own apartment after what happened. Maybe he’d even just lock him up in his own closet and let him die and rot in there and no one would know until he throws him out like some trash.

A nurse enters his room with clothes in her hand which he recognizes is his. “Your father –”she starts speaking.

“Step father” he stops her mid-sentence to correct her. His own father may not be any better than this scumbag that is his guardian now, but he still it doesn’t mean that he’d let his father’s name be tarnished by such a disgrace.

There’s a reason he keeps using Styles in his name instead of use Twist or Cox, like his mother’s. His biological father was a good man, a good person and a good father. Maybe if he didn’t die too early and leave his mother weeping and too young to care for her own children without any help, Harry would choose him over Robin any day.

“… alright, step father then. He had these clothes delivered to your room. The clothes you came in last night aren’t exactly usable for now but we insisted that he take it home anyway. If you need anything else, just let us know. He’s already signing your discharge papers on the desk, by the way.”

She was smiling at him and he knows that she must truly care at least, but after way too many times of being let down by people he trusted, he knows to be wary of friendly smiles.

She makes her way out but he mumbles a quick “Thank you” and she stops to look back at him and give him a warm smile.

“It’s my pleasure to help.” She looked like she was in her mid-thirties and he doesn’t mean that as an insult. She looked lovely and she gave him a very-welcoming smile but there was something in it that he just knew wouldn’t be easy to fake. She had a motherly aura with her, as if she’s walking in her own bubble of motherly care.

He hurries to get himself sorted and he grimaces as he notices that Robin packed the wrong set of clothes. These are all his old clothes.  _That bastard_ , he thinks to himself.

He very well knows that there are still some of his recent garments in his old room. He only moved out a year ago anyway, as soon as he turned eighteen he made it a point to get himself to get out of that old house, unless he already threw out everything and started letting his newest flavour of the month use his childhood room. He grimaced at the idea of his step father having his way inside the house and fucking another starlet who would have sex with anyone in exchange of having a chance in the show business.

He wouldn’t pretend to be chaste and say that he didn’t get his fair share of those starlets his step father brings to their house. Of course he had fucked tons of those women. Sure they were all good looking, it’s a shame though that good looks and fake breasts wouldn’t get you anywhere in acting. The most that you could do would probably go to the porn industry instead and practice those cinematic moans. They all couldn’t act and that’s pretty hard to fix when they want to be actresses who get the big bucks.

Some even tried poking holes in the condoms he was about to use, good thing that even when in a drunken haze, he manages to recognize when there’s a pin prick in the packet. As soon as he notices that, he throws the whorebag out of his house. He doesn’t need a slut who’s filthy enough to want to have a child with him just in the hopes of blackmailing him and keeping some money for herself. It’s not that he doesn’t want a child, if it ever happens he knew that he would keep the baby and support it. It’s just that he doesn’t want to bring a child into this world and let it be treated like a mistake. He doesn’t want his child to have a mother like that. 

As soon as he’s done changing, he finds his way to the parking space through the back door. He looks left and right, trying to figure out where he should go now. There’s just one thing he’s sure of, he’s not going home with Robin. He walks along the gutter, without any sort of direction and a dazed stare. He bumps into someone.

“Oh fuck. I-I’m so sorry.” He tries to help the guy with the paper that flew all out of his hand, chasing them down the cold breeze of the parking lot.

After they’ve gathered everything, he notices that it’s Liam. “Wait, hey! I know you. I didn’t know you were getting discharged tonight. Are you sure you’re alright?” Liam launched a string of sentences and he can’t help but roll his eyes fondly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he looks away distractedly. “Do you need a ride?” It takes a minute or two before it all clicks to him. Liam is the answer to all his problems. Well, maybe not all, but to most.

“Uhm, if it’s alright with you …” He says under his breath. He’s not exactly that comfortable asking his new found friend a favour so soon.

But before he knew it Liam was already leading him to what he assumes is his car. He doesn’t really have any idea what kind of car it is, which is sad especially since he is showered with all kinds of rich and fortune but he cannot identify a car to save his life. As long as it has wheels and he can pass out inside it when he’s terribly drunk, then it’s a car. Especially if the owner is shouting at him and telling him he cannot puke his guts out on the seats, then it’s most definitely a car. He’s decent behind the steering wheel though, but he does not want to venture on anything else except on how to work one. 

“Harry, right?” Liam asks him, not averting his eyes from the road. He told him of a fake address to take him to, which he knows is bad since they’re burning good gas and Liam’s money is getting burnt as well. He nods his head coyly as if Liam was going to see right through his lie.

“Well, Harry. Just so you know, I’m not exactly taking you to the address you gave me.” His head snaps to Liam and he looks at him, wide-eyed and terrified.

What if this man was actually a serial killer? What if he was going to rape him and then chop off certain body parts and torture him before grinding his body in a blender and serving it to his guests in a party? Damn. He should have not trusted those brown and round puppy dog eyes. Of course it’s those innocent eyes that would be the last thing he sees. The eyes he trusted yet betrayed him. Oh dear God, this is how he’s going to die. In the arms of a savage killer that no one will believe has ever rested a cruel hand upon an animal.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Liam chuckles. “I know my way around this area. I know that you’ve given me a fake address. There should be a reason why you’re making me burn my money circling around this block, right?” Well, there goes his paranoid conspiracy.

He accused a good person of not only being a murderer but also a rapist and he doesn’t know how to look at him right now and not feel ashamed of himself, especially now that he has to ask him a favour.

“Are you running away from the police?” he could hear Liam’s voice faltering and he can’t help but laugh at the man’s own expense. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing to scare him a little bit right? But that might also cost him a nice warm couch to lie on tonight so he shouldn’t risk it.

“Oh no, no, no. Nothing bad like that. It’s just that, I really need a place to stay in tonight,” he lowers his voice as if he’s whispering to himself towards the end. He’s a confident fella, sometimes over confident but not right now.

“Well, you should’ve said so earlier! Then we wouldn’t have wasted some perfect good night’s sleep. I’ll let you stay in my apartment alright? It’s just a little over 30 minutes away. You can sleep now if you want, I’ll just wake you up when we get there.” He really doesn’t want to doze off and make it seem like he’s just using Liam for a couch to sleep on because he really wants to make friends with him, but he’s too tired and he can’t help d r i f t i n g …

“Harry …?”

He feels a light tapping on his shoulder and he half-opens his eyes. He realizes he fell asleep and they must have reached Liam’s place by now. Hopefully. Because even after napping inside the car, weirdly, he still feels absolutely knackered.

“Come on. I know you’re tired.” Liam steals a glance at his own watch. “But my next shift is only a little over 10 hours away and believe me there’s not much sleeping I can squeeze in there.”

His eyes snap open, how could he have forgotten the fact that Liam actually does something for a living and he needs to get some eye shut? He opens the door of the vehicle and jumps out of it as fast as he can, almost tripping himself. Luckily, he catches himself right before he falls down face first on what he can only make out as cobblestone with the dim lighting of the street.

It must be late then, he guesses. Or he is in the depths of the earth and this is the part where sunlight or moonlight doesn’t come around too often. Where they celebrate the harvest with newcomers they lure to their neighbourhood to sacrifice. He just hopes they don’t cut off any … sensitive parts of his because that won’t be pretty and what if he gets to run away? He’d rather just lay there and get killed than to run off knowing there won’t be a willy dangling downstairs.

“You alright?” Liam’s already ahead of him, keying the front door. He just half-jogs till he gets a few meters away in response.

Liam pushes the door open just then, nudging him to come inside with him. “The apartment’s just upstairs, three doors to the right. Go ahead, just let yourself in. I still have to drop by a neighbour’s letter.” Liam says before disappearing with a left turn somewhere across a hallway beside the elevator.

Well, he might as well take the elevator now that he spotted it. He takes a few steps back from the stairs that he’s already starting. Call him lazy or whatever but he’s tired. 

He almost falls asleep inside the lift but then he hears the familiar  _ding!_  and he forces himself to get outside and drag himself to wherever Liam’s apartment is. He finds it soon enough and brings his hand to the door knob expecting it to turn but then he rolls his eyes in disappointment when he finds it locked instead. He drops to his knees and fumbles beneath the mat that says “Welcome” which he finds ironic since he can’t open the door and let himself in, he doubts that he’s welcome at all. He doesn’t find an emergency key so he resolves to knocking on the door. He pulls himself together and starts knocking before he hears a loud booming voice coming from inside.

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU FORGET YOUR KEY ONE MORE TIME I’LL FUCKING CUT OFF YOUR D—” the half-naked boy who opens the door stops mid-sentence, realizing that it was someone else at the door.

He was only wearing boxers and looks absolutely attractive, with his hair all tousled and some sticking out from the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve knocked on the wrong door. I swear, I didn’t mean to be of any inconvenience,” he started rambling. Suddenly his own, worn out Converse looks very much interesting.

“Uhm, yeah. Sorry for the shouting mate. Thought you were someone else. Liam—” his head snaps at the mention of the familiar name, maybe he found the right apartment after all “—always leaves his key and it gets to my nerves sometimes.”

“Wait, you know Liam?” he asks, hoping to God that his voice isn’t betraying him yet. Sure, he is still absolutely tired and he wants to lay himself out on the couch Liam promised he could crash but the guy in front of him is starting to make him feel a little giddy.

“Yeah, yeah. You with him?” he nods, “Oh okay … the twat. He should’ve at least texted me that someone’s coming over. Oh come in! Come in!” the guy ushers him inside and he just lets himself get shoved down the couch in front of the television.

The guy was watching some rerun of Friends, he smiles to himself. “I’ll put the kettle on and you just make yourself comfortable, yeah?” he looks around and finds the guy busying himself in the kitchen.

“Coffee or tea?” he realizes that the question was for him and hopes that the guy didn’t catch him staring.

“You really don’t have to. I’m good.” “Come on, I need tea to sleep anyways and odd enough some people fall asleep with coffee, but to each his own,” he turns and lifts himself up to sit on the counter and Harry has to turn his head back and pretend to be watching intently, though he has watched this episode a thousand times before, so he can bite back the growing smile on his face at the image of the guy idly swinging his legs back and forth like a little pixie.

“I’m sorry for being a burden by the way. It was kind of a last minute kinda thing too so you probably shouldn’t be mad at Liam.”

“Sure … yeah. I guess I can manage to do that,” his head turns and the guy winks at him. For fuck’s sake  _why_.  

He hears footsteps outside then the door creaks open. Liam’s head peeps at the open door before he comes inside with his bag. 

“I see you two have gotten acquainted?” Liam asks as he makes his way to the room on the right. It takes a few minutes before he hears a scream from the room Liam disappeared into then the lad comes out in sweats.

He goes straight to Louis and whispers, well what he thinks is whispering, clutching a bunch of underwear in his fist. “I already fucking told you, you gotta clean your shit up in there. I can’t go home every night and clean up before I get some rest.”

The kettle whistles and Louis jumps off the counter then brushes past Liam. “I’m sorry okay? I’ll clean. Now get your precious sleep and I promise to clean while you’re resting okay? I won’t make a sound,” then the guy squeezes Liam’s arm before letting go and motioning him to go back to his room.

When Liam’s gone, the guy sits beside him on the couch putting two cups of tea in front of them at the coffee table. By this time the episode is already ending and the guy reaches for the remote to switch it off. “I hope you don’t mind that I assumed you’d rather have tea. The coffee offer was just for common courtesy, we don’t have any since Liam’s trying to keep me off them. Says they get me all hyper and he can’t afford to have me ruining the apartment when he’s out. Oh by the way, the name’s Louis.”

Louis turns to him and holds his right hand. He reaches for it “Harry,” he mutters.

Louis crosses his legs and blows on his tea. It only takes him a few minutes to get done with it. Harry would rather talk to him for a few more hours but he doubts Louis would want to so the entire time passes by with awkward silence and clinking of the cup to the glass coaster. Louis gets up.

“You gonna be fine there?” he nods “I can get you a duvet if you want? I think we have an extra?”

“Nah I’ll be fine,” he mock-stretches on the couch and fakes a yawn, “Sleepy …”

Louis lets out a chuckle “Yeah. Night, mate.” 

Louis’ already gone and the couch is hurting his back but sleep seems to be elusive. He starts counting sheep, hoping that it helps. 

_That night, he dreams._


	2. Chapter 2

He most definitely did not dream of deep blue eyes. He absolutely did not dream of huge biceps that could support his weight when he’s too weak to hold himself up with his back against the wall and his neck being peppered with kisses. There was no fit guy called Louis in his dream, okay? And he’s definitely fucking lying to himself.

He doesn’t know what has gotten into him but it’s been about 30 minutes since he has woken up but he can’t bring himself to get up and get his ass off the couch. He is most definitely freezing and he sorta wishes that he accepted the offer of the duvet last night but right now he just can’t shove all the thoughts of Louis away. The guy has been plaguing his mind ever since they met, even in his dream, he fucking showed up and now he can’t pull himself together.

“Fuck this,” he mutters under his breath, standing up in one swift manoeuvre and his sight momentarily blacks out. He’s still nursing his head when he hears heavy footsteps.

“Oh! You’re awake. Morning mate, I’m off to the hospital. I’m so sorry I can’t fix you a proper breakfast, I’m running a little late,” Liam glances at his watch, “It’s already 30 minutes before 7 am and the traffic’s starting to build up by this time. There’s cereal in the cabinet in the middle and there’s milk on the refrigerator. If you need anything else, just wake Louis up, alright?”

He just nods off at everything that Liam says and Liam smiles at him.

Liam’s almost already out the door when he turns back to Harry again and says, “Oh and please wake Louis up on or before 10 am. He might kick you or hit your balls, just dodge so you won’t get injured. He _needs_ to be awake by that time, okay?”

He says a short “Sure” and Liam’s off sprinting out of the apartment.

He decides that he should probably get himself some proper breakfast. Cereal and milk would be nice but he does feel a little too hungry right now and no amount of cereal will be able to fill that void. And just as he thinks that, his stomach makes the sound of a dying whale.  _Yep, I sure do need more than just cereal._

He really shouldn’t go out and be seen in these clothing in general since he looks like an oversized kid with a fear of growing up so he keeps on wearing them over and over again even though he’s outgrown them. But he clearly has no choice since he still can’t wake Louis up. Well at least he’s got his hoodie. He quickly grabs it off the couch and he feels his pockets if his wallet is in there. And there it is, along with his keys to his own apartment. It’s good to know that there’s still some decency left in his step father.

He’s just about to go out the door when it creaks open. A blond haired guy comes in wearing the pants of his pjs and he looks absolutely surprised to see Harry standing right in the middle of the living room of Liam’s apartment.

He clears his throat and shakes his head, looking back at Harry with a fake macho expression, “Who are you?”

He tries to keep a straight face although he can almost feel himself bursting with laughter. “I’m Harry, and you?” he smiles, hoping it will at least break the tension between the two of them.

“What exactly are you doing in here?” the guy answers, ignoring his question.

“I’m just crashing their couch. Liam offered it to me last night when he learned that I needed a place to stay.” The blond finally breathes a sigh of relief, “Oh God! I thought I was going to have to fight you! I thought you were some burglar or something!” the guy was already clutching his stomach, laughing at his own expense.

“I can be a burglar,” he says.

The guy tenses and his eyes grow wide, “What?”

“I was just kidding,” he smirks and the guy comes closer offering a handshake, “I’m Niall,” he says with a toothy grin.

Niall’s a really cool guy, he talks a lot and about 90% of that ‘a lot’ is about music. He doesn’t stop ranting on and on about everything and anything that’s music and Harry finds it comforting since he loves music too. They’ve been talking about it in the kitchen for about an hour, he thinks.

He can use a little short break and he just can’t bring himself to shut Niall up for a second so he’s glad when Louis finally shows up, scratching his head.

“God Niall, when do you ever shut up?” he feigns an irritated expression but it soon blooms into a smile when Niall launches himself up to him for a big hug. Louis just grins at Harry across the mop of blond locks that has buried itself onto his neck.

When Niall finally let’s go of him Louis looks at Harry and asks, “Have you eaten breakfast yet? You could join me and Niall. He always goes to eat in the morning with me since his roommate’s still asleep by this time and he doesn’t like eating alone.”

“I haven’t, though I was planning to buy some supplies downstairs. Is there a shop nearby in here where we can get some eggs and all those?”

He points at the small fridge at the corner, “Don’t be offended but there’s really nothing in there Louis.”

Niall just laughs and chimes in, “Well you can’t be expecting anything in there. Liam barely eats in here and Louis doesn’t even know how to turn the stove on without creating a huge fire in here so Chinese takeaway is always the safe way to go.”

“Well, now you’re getting some proper egg on toast and all the stuff like that, yeah?” he asks.

“Sure, just let me get dressed and I’ll walk you there. Niall, you coming with us?”

“Nah, I’ll pass,” Niall holds his hands up and walks to the couch, resting his feet on the table.

“I can’t go back in there and get my stuff, Zayn will kill me. He already chucked his shoe at me, luckily I closed the door just in time,” Niall tells as he points the remote to the TV, turning it on.

Soon enough it’s just Louis and him in the kitchen and he must have swallowed his tongue.

“I’ll just put on some pants and then we’ll go alright?” Louis asks him.

He remembers Liam’s entire speech earlier and he glances at the time. 8 am.

“You sure you’re going to come? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something later? Liam was pretty insistent that I wake you up before 10.”

“Well, I really want to eat something  _real_. It’s always instant noodles and cereals around here.” Louis’ voice slowly fades as he goes inside his room, well the only room in that apartment.

He then comes out donning a shirt and sweats. “And besides you can’t just make Niall’s mouth water with all the talk of food and not let him eat it.”

And at the mention of his name Niall simply shouts, “Yep! That’s true!” without peeling his eyes off some American sitcom he found on the cable.

“See?” Louis smiles as he nudges Harry to go.

It takes them only a couple of minutes to grab everything that they need. Louis on the other hand was stopped by an old lady by the bookstore they passed by. He wanted to stay with him and just watch in fascination how well Louis converses and just enchants anyone who walks into his path but Louis insisted that he go, whispering to him that it might take a while and he should get going since Niall must be worried. He caves in with a meek smile.

“I thought you were lost or something. I was scared I’d have to ask Zayn for food and with that terrible hangover he’s gotten himself into, he might just shove myself into a pan and serve me my own head,” Niall says as soon as he comes inside, jumping out of his seat and turning the television off to follow him into the kitchen.

“Come on Niall stop exaggerating, he’s your roommate,” he replies through sorting the things they’ve bought and figuring out which is to go to which cabinet.

“Yeah, yeah. He’s a nice person. But definitely not a morning person,” he throws Niall a bread to munch on until he finishes making the Eggs Benedict. That keeps him silent throughout the entire session, just gaping and sniffing, blushing when his stomach grumbles and Harry would shoot him a look.

“Don’t you think we should get him?” he asks Niall while he places the plates on the table.

Niall doesn’t answer instead he just counts to five and points at the door. And at the same time Louis enters the apartment and he almost does a double take because how in the hell would Niall know that?

Niall must’ve noticed that he was looking at him all weird and shocked that he asks, “What? I heard his footsteps!” Well that makes sense. He works with music and all that stuff, his hearing must be impeccable.

“Now what do we have here?” Louis asks as sits next to Niall and opposite of Harry.

“Is this really Eggs Benedict I see before me?” he exclaims but Niall just laughs and Harry couldn’t resist chuckling a little too.

When they’re done Niall excuses himself and says he has to go and open the shop and that Ed would probably kick his ass if he goes there late again.

“Who’s Ed?” he asks Niall but it was Louis who answers, “Oh it’s the owner of the shop. Ginger.”

Niall punches Louis in the arm as he sits on the countertop, “Why the hell is it so important to mention that Ed’s a ginger?”

“Because it makes him recognizable to Harry when he comes around you idiot. It’s not like I’m labelling him or something,” he hits Niall’s head then turns to Harry.

“He doesn’t come around often but it’s better that you know. Nice guy. Oh and for a ginger, he’s got a lot of soul,” Louis jokes.

“Now go and work so you can pay for your own breakfast the next time!” Louis pushes Niall off the counter, good thing that Niall has a good balance and a good sense of humour.

“Yeah, yeah. You just want to keep Harry all for yourself!” Niall yells before ducking as he sees Louis removing his TOMS.

He soon disappears out of the apartment and they hear a loud shout, “FOR FUCK’S SAKE NIALL STOP BEING SUCH AN ASS!”

Louis walks past him and mutters, “Now that’s Zayn for you.”

Louis leaves the apartment by exactly 10 am after a lot of running around and tripping on his pant leg. He keeps cursing and muttering under his breath that Harry just can’t catch but he forces himself not to overthink about it.

“I’ll be back at around 4 pm. Just get yourself comfortable alright?” Louis smiles as he rummages the contents of his rucksack, checking if he might have forgotten something.

“I’ll be fine. And I promise not to steal anything,” he smirks.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve got your identification anyways,” Louis retorts, “Oh and if Zayn comes in for coffee just tell him that we don’t have any, alright? He can be quite rash since he’s nursing a hangover but I promise that he’s a nice guy.”

He spends the entire afternoon staring at the ceiling. Not exactly productive but he can’t bring himself to watch another trashy show on cable and he’s trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life.

Turns out when you’re trying to make big decisions, empty ceilings and walls look particularly interesting, as if it’s an elephant wearing a lingerie telling him that he has to shave his head and be a monk.

He can’t live in here forever, Liam and Louis already has too much in their hands, considering that they’re basically supporting two other people.

Which reminds him that he’s glad that Zayn didn’t bother asking for coffee even once because he doesn’t know if he can handle meeting four people, two days in a row. It’s quite a lot, kinda like the dreaded “Please introduce yourself” session every first day of class. He just can’t do the first day of class for four times in two days.

He remembers the first time he went to school after his father died. It took him a month before he could ever get out of their house. Most people kept telling him that he was a good father and that he will be remembered, the same things that people kept saying during his father’s funeral. Distant relatives kept hugging him and saying that he should be a good boy and to take care of his mother and sister.

Sometimes he likes to think that that’s why he stopped being so sickly in the first place, to be strong enough to take care of the women in his family. But he wasn’t able to take care of them after all, he realizes.

He hates himself for not being able to do anything. He watched his mother remarry some guy that he didn’t trust. He knew the truth but he never told his own mother because whenever he wanted to tell her he would see her smiling like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her life. He could see through her smiles and laughters though, no matter how many times she giggled and says that he’ll be their new father, he knew that she doesn’t want to replace Des.

Gemma kept fighting with Anne, she was 12 years old back then, pre-teen, Anne would slap her and her sister would only glare at Anne, fighting through her tears.

Gemma didn’t like Robin, she kept saying that they didn’t need a new father, that no one could replace their own father but Anne closed her eyes and stopped listening to any of them.

She said that they needed a father figure in their lives and that she’s doing it for the sake of them because she loved her children.

At first everything seemed to be going on well, Robin would come to their place and have dinner with all of them. Anne would laugh at everything that the man says, but Harry knew that she was forcing her laughter. That she was trying to make everything fine when it’s not. After a month they moved into a new house with Robin, no less than half a year after his father died. It was a huge house, a very huge house in an exclusive village.

Too huge for a family of four.

Too huge that no one ever heard their screams.

No one heard Gemma’s screams.

Harry noticed that something was different the year that Gemma turned 13.

She stopped arguing with Anne, she stopped loving her favourite books, she didn’t want to go to school … she stopped being Gemma.

He knew there was something different and he asked consistently whenever he found her sister crying in one of the rooms but she kept dismissing him. She would wipe the tears out of her face and feign a smile, saying that Harry should stop worrying about her because she’s way tougher than Harry or as she’d always say, “Stop being a pussy, you dolt,” with a smile on her face.

“Just don’t tell mum, okay?”

“Are you asking me to lie?”

“I’m asking you a favour. Please. It’s for her own sake.”

That was always the pattern of their conversation whenever he discovers Gemma hiding in the attic, sobbing with her face buried on her knees and slowly rocking back and forth, cradling herself to calm down.

It continued for years that he learned to stop asking. He learned that if he really wants to help Gemma, questions didn’t have to be asked. She needed him there and he was always there. That was all that she needed for him to be.

But then a month after he turned 14 the questions he never had the courage to ask were answered.

Robin and Anne still weren’t home that night, they were out on a business trip and weren’t meant to be home for two more days. He was preparing dinner for both him and his sister who refused to come outside of her room.

He heard a loud piercing cry and he came rushing upstairs, he could hear Gemma crying amidst the sound of the running shower. He rummaged through the set of keys and he could have never been prepared for what he saw.

Gemma had stopped crying by then, her eyes fixated on the blood that was slowly being washed away by the flowing water. She was lying on the empty bathtub, her white dressing gown soaked in both water and blood. He didn’t know what to do but gape and listen as she kept chanting, “I lost the baby.”

He rushed Gemma to the hospital and when she woke up the next morning, she was weak and pale and vulnerable. The saddest that Harry has ever seen her since forever. She was staring into nothingness as she told him that the baby was Robin’s and that he has been abusing him since the day that Harry found her crying inside one of the rooms. She said she asked him to stop, she  _begged_  him to stop but he wouldn’t listen. He said no one would believe her even if she told, saying that they’d be left with nothing if he left.

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing that night as he watched his sister curl like a scared little girl on the hospital bed. She repeatedly said that she wanted to die, her eyes rimmed red but a sad twisted smile was etched across her face.

 _“Don’t tell anyone …”_ she murmured before she fell back to sleep.

He bites back down the tears that are glistening at the corners of his eyes. He looks at the clock just above the television and he sees that it’s almost time for Louis to come and he still haven’t had lunch yet.  _Maybe he should stop reminiscing and actually do something to turn his life around._  But all those life changing decisions can wait for a while. Now he should probably get going and grab something to eat. He thinks there’s a restaurant he saw earlier when he bought breakfast with Louis.

As he walks down the streets he wonders where Gemma must be, if she’s alright, if she has made friends, because Harry didn’t.

He didn’t make any friends when he was back at school and especially when he decided not to go to uni when all of his batchmates were off being successful in their own fields, making their dreams come true. He didn’t need it, that’s what he thought back then. Robin had enough money to keep him loaded and his step father wouldn’t dare let him get mad. There’s too much that he knows and it could ruin whatever reputation he has built for himself in the show business.

All the friends that Harry used to have before his father died, he lost. They all left him when he needed them most, reasoning their disloyalty by saying that he has grown difficult. He heard all of the talks, the hushed tones, the whispers whenever he walked past. They all spoke of how he grew to be weird and different than all of them, making up theories that it must be because he didn’t have a father to guide him just because he was having a hard time coping with his father’s death.

 _Can’t a son grieve for his father?_ He kept asking himself every time he found himself being shoved into a locker or when he was called a faggot for crying.

He wonders if Gemma’s still friends with the same people she considered to be best friends back then. If they actually stuck up to her and stood by her side as she got her life back on track. He wonders if she still smokes like he always found her doing so when she’s having a particularly bad day.

He remembers the first time that he discovered Gemma smoking in the balcony, he thought she was going to pretend that she didn’t have it or lie at least, but she didn’t.

She kept blowing the smoke right into Harry’s face, slagging him off and cursing him. He wonders if she still uses the birth control pills that Harry found in her drawer. She said those were just aspirin, but Harry knew they weren’t.

He wonders if she still needs those pills, if she still has sex with the random strangers she meets. He wonders what would have happened if he ran away with her the night that she did. He wonders if she would have been proud of him if she knew that Harry turned into the person that she tried to keep Harry from becoming.

She had always laughed at the idea of Harry toughening up, saying that he’s too much of a “girl” to be hardened by life. But now, he wonders if she would be happy or disgusted to find that Harry changed. To find out that Harry did toughen up.

He was hardened by all the broken bones in his arms and legs, the purple bruises on almost every part of his body and the bleeding cuts that no one was there to tend.

He was hardened by the countless nights that he cried himself to sleep, wishing that he can stop his father from dying and none of this would have happened.

He would have had his family back. He just wants all of them back. His father coming home from work late at night, finding Anne waiting in their living room and kissing her in the forehead. His mother tickling him until he wakes up in the morning saying that he’s late for school. Gemma glaring at him, and not with those empty, spiteful eyes, across the table in breakfast.

“Hi! Are you ready to take your order, sir?” a girl with wild curls tuck in a neat pony tail smiles at him as he sits in the diner. He figures the blonde must be a dye job even though he can’t see the roots hidden in her beanie.

“Erm, I haven’t quite decided yet. What will you recommend to a person who has just gotten into this place and is in search of the most scrumptious meal ever?” he grins.

She takes a pad and a pen out of the front pockets of her red high waisted shorts. “Hmm …” she raises an eye brow and brings her chin between her pointer finger and thumb, petting a non-existent beard.

She purses her lips together, biting the inside of her cheek before bursting into giggles and looking directly at Harry, “Well we do offer the most disgusting and greasiest hamburger in this town.”

Harry fake-frowns before saying, “Well I’ll have me some of that!”

“Is it always this quiet in here?” he asks when the girl arrives with his food.

“I won’t tolerate that smart mouth in here mister! Are you trying to say that we’re not hot commodity around here?”

“No no no! I was just wondering. Quiet’s good for me, I like quiet,” he quips.

The girl laughs at his rambling, “Sure sure whatever you say, love.”

“So …” he sneaks a glance on the tiny silver plate pinned on her white sleeveless blouse, “Eleanor do you live near here?”

The girl playfully hits him at the back of his head, “I’m not Eleanor you idiot, I borrowed my best friend’s name tag ‘cause I left mine at home and if the owner gets bothered to visit and notice I’m not wearing it he’ll get half of the tips, which obviously is not much since I work during most of the non-busy hours. Eleanor’s lucky, she covers the shift from 5 am up to exactly 12 nn then I take over till 7 pm.”

“And you just close after that? Wouldn’t you gain much more money if you’re open during the later hours?”

“Oh, that’s when Zayn takes over. He’s not much of a morning person so he hired me and Eleanor.”

His eyes widen, “Zayn works here?”

“ _Works?_  He owns this place! He chose to continue living here when his parents migrated abroad so they left him this since they were pretty certain he can’t support himself.” The girl slides into the seat opposite of him in the booth.

“Is he really that scary?” “Horny when drunk and ill-tempered when hungover but he’s pretty chill when sober. Wait how do you know Zayn?” she asks.

“I don’t really know him,” he remembers the burger in his hands and unwraps it, “I just heard of him and he seems to shout a lot.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. He was shitfaced when we dragged his ass to his apartment at 2 am. I’m just glad that Niall’s a huge drinker so he was still a little sober. Poor Zaynie must have a pounding headache,” she mimes drying her tears in fake grief.

She was about to stand up when she heard the front door of the diner opening but she just smirks and goes back to Harry.

“Aren’t you going to serve her?” he turns around and watches as the brunette sits and rests both of her feet on the table, two booths away from them.

“Oh that’s Eleanor, she comes here and sleeps for 2 hours waiting for her last class,” she says just as he finishes the burger.

He nods in acknowledgement while he sips on his Pepsi. He tilts his head and looks at her wrist watch, it’s already 30 minutes past 4 pm.

“Wow, time passes by so quickly in here huh?” he smiles as he stands up, “Wait you never told me your name!” he remembers.

“Danielle, and you?” “Harry.” “Well it was nice meeting you Harry,” he catches a glimpse of her smile before he turns his heel and bolts out of the establishment.

“Hey you’re home!” Louis shouts as he opens the door of the apartment.

He feels a surge of guilt when he remembers that he left the apartment unlocked and he didn’t even bother to leave any note. To his defense he didn’t even think that he was going to stay out for that long, he was just planning to eat, pay and get the hell out of that place.

He just grins at Louis who was again, not wearing anything but boxers and is situated in front of the television. Louis pats the space next to him as he turns his gaze back onto the show he’s watching. The foam of the couch dips a little as Harry sits beside Louis.

“So this is your thing?” he asks Louis.

“What?” he absent-mindedly replies.

“You know, you’re the guy who wears bright red boxers and sits on the couch popping a random episode of Friends on DVD at 4 in the afternoon,” he thinks for a while and adds, “and doesn’t drink coffee!”

“What? I love the smell of coffee but Liam doesn’t want me to drink any of them.” He tenses at the mention of Liam’s name and he just stays quiet throughout the episode.

Louis notices the change of the mood but he pretends to watch the show intently. God, the tension is so thick a chainsaw wouldn’t be able to cut through it but Harry doesn’t care.

 _Why does it always have to be about Liam when it comes to Louis?_ he thinks to himself as he bites on his lower lip until he tastes blood.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis rubs his eyes lazily, yawning before he pushes his dark-rimmed glasses back immediately. His head is aching from all the work he has to do and he can hear the television blaring from the living room. He’d get up and ask for some consideration but he knows that it’s Harry and he doesn’t want to scare him away again. He knows that if he asks him to turn the volume down, Harry will simply turn it off and get out of the apartment. No words said, he just leaves. He learnt that lesson when he did it three days ago. He thought Harry wouldn’t come back but he did and as much as he’d like to say he wasn’t worried,  _he was_.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with the boy, because he keeps running away. And it makes him curious, curious about what goes into that boy’s head and why he keeps being elusive. Why he keeps coming onto Louis only to push him off yet again. 

It’s been a week since Harry started staying in their apartment and he doesn’t really mind. Liam simply told him that he needed a place to stay and that’s all it took for them to take Harry under their wing. He’s not much of a bother.  _Especially since he doesn’t stay in here that much at all_ , he reminds himself.

Sometimes he’d find Harry sleeping in the couch and he wills himself not to stare but he fails anyways. His curls cover his face and his lips are slightly parted. His lashes dust his cheekbones and he looks like an angel. But he doesn’t look at peace, not at all. Of all times he watched Harry sleeping (which isn’t supposed to be creepy at all) he doesn’t see him calm, he doesn’t see him at rest. His eyes might be closed but his brows would be furrowed. His chest might be bare but his arms would be wrapped around him, defensively. His hands might be on his stomach but they would always form a fist. And he keeps wondering why.

Harry refuses to wear any of their clothes, even though he told him that it doesn’t matter to them and they’re used anyways. But Harry sternly said no, stubborn and hard. Not that it was anything new. That’s all that Louis saw ever since he first met Harry. He might joke and he might laugh but all of them would be forced. In fact, it’s been days since he last saw Harry even smile. He wonders if he just doesn’t smile around him or if he just stopped smiling entirely. 

He grimaces at the papers scattered on his table and he decides that they could all wait. He takes the glasses off and he sighs, resting them on top of the accumulated works that he still has to finish. He catches a glimpse of the family picture that sits at the edge of the table, just beneath the light that Liam bought for him when they moved in together. Louis insisted he didn’t need it and that his eyes see perfectly clear but Liam knew better because he had seen Louis struggling with the ball when he played footie at school.

It’s been a long time since he has visited his family. But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know a thing about them though, his mum still calls and his sisters would chat him up on Facebook or sometimes, on Skype. The family picture he has is just about three years ago, just after he finished boxing all the things he brought to the flat. It’s just been three years ago but he knows that things has changed since he left. His mother has crows feet at the corner of her eyes and grey hairs that she didn’t have back then. Sometimes he wonders if they were there already and he just didn’t notice, if he simply overlooked everything because he was young and he didn’t pay attention that his mother was getting older than she used to be. The girls are growing up fast, Lottie already has a boyfriend and she thinks that Louis doesn’t know. Fizzy who was shy and was always buried under piles of books started telling him about the friends she made and the sleepovers that their mum has let her go to. The twins are growing fast as well and he doesn’t know where the time has all gone by, because it feels like it hasn’t been a week since he left home. And yet he feels like he left ages ago at the same time.

He looks at the full moon from his seat, not bothering to stand up. He lifts his feet onto the table, crumpling a bit of the papers but he couldn’t be fucked to sort them out. His feet are aching and his legs are tired. He closes his eyes and he thinks of the old him, the one who still hasn’t felt rejection. The one who had dreams of being a football star, or an A-list actor, or a huge pop star with his songs being played over and over the radio till he’s annoyed by hearing his own voice. Just the him that never expected that sometimes, dreams don’t come true. 

He wonders if Harry’s dreams didn’t come true. If he was rejected, if he was so disappointed with himself that he just gave up on trying. Because as much as hurt and weary he is, and as much as many torn dreams he has seen for himself in the past few years, he has never seen a smile so pained and eyes so green yet so empty, until he met the boy named Harry Styles.

He finds Harry splayed out on the couch that has been his home for a week now. It’s not comfortable and Louis knows that, but he figured he doesn’t have any options either. He was lying on his side, his right hand tucked under one of the throw pillows that he now uses at night when he goes to sleep. He must have terrible headaches and a stiff neck when he wakes up every morning because Louis had slept like that before when he went home too tired to drag himself to their room. But Harry doesn’t complain. He never complains about anything. He just nods and bites his lower lip before disappearing again.

But now Harry seems too tired to run and hide from whatever he seems to scared to face, because when Louis sits next to him, he just lifts his the pillow and his head then promptly rests it on Louis’ lap. 

“What are we watching?” he asks, tearing his eyes from the television and looking at Harry instead.

Harry simply shrugs and says, “Documentary.”

“About what?” he asks almost too soon. He’s not exactly excited about whatever documentary it is, but Harry’s voice was too inviting. Sleepy and lazy, too gravelly and vulnerable for his own good. 

Harry covers his mouth when he yawns, his eyes half-lidded, “Something about global warming and stuff …” his voice fades.

Harry’s hand tucks beneath the pillow again, this time on Louis’ thighs. 

And Harry looks so young.  _Too young_. 

Louis finds himself running his fingers on Harry’s curls, playing with the tiny chocolate ringlets that wraps themselves on his fingertips. It’s soft, just like how imagined it would be. He’s been dying to touch them, but he always had been able to resist the temptation, figuring that Harry isn’t like the other boys who didn’t seem to care much about personal space.

Harry purrs into his touch and he wonders if maybe, Harry really is just a stray kitten that Liam found in the parking lot of the hospital. He doesn’t know that he isn’t entirely wrong about that one.

And just like that Harry is out like a light. With his mop of hair covering his face from Louis’ view but his hand still between the pillow and Louis’ thigh, his fingertips slightly pushed beneath his boxers, warm against Louis’ skin. 

He’s confused as to whether or not he should go now and leave Harry to himself but this is the first time that Harry didn’t flinch against his touch. 

_I just don’t want to wake him up_ , he reasons to himself. Though that’s not entirely true but it will cover for now.

He shifts to a more comfortable position and Harry murmurs, “ _Please don’t go_ ,” as he turns around, facing Louis’ stomach, his hand sleepily gripping on the side of Louis’ white shirt. 

And Louis doesn’t.

They don’t talk about anything that happened that night.  _Because there’s nothing to talk about_ , Louis shoots at himself.

It was nice, having Harry close to him, safe in his arms. As if he can do something to make those creases on his forehead go away and make the short breaths during his sleep come less. Because Harry does that a lot, he squirms and he whispers during his sleep and Louis knows that he has nightmares. That somewhere in his subconscious, the boy with the prettiest curls and the greenest eyes he has ever seen in his entire life, he is troubled. Deeply troubled. And Louis wants to do something about it, to protect him from the shadows of his past that seem to haunt him. The boy walks with invisible lines and boundaries and whether other people imposed it on him or he made them himself, Louis still wants to get rid of them. Because for someone who has the face for a smile, Harry doesn’t smile a lot.

The sleepovers on the couch become a thing and Louis still doesn’t know much about Harry, except for the little things that slip out of Harry’s mouth when he lets his guards down. 

Sometimes he’d bring a beer to him after he’s done with his own work. Sometimes Harry would come home from Malik’s (yes the restaurant is named that, not so original yeah?) and find him there on the couch. He’d make a place for him and Harry would crawl next to him, sneakily stealing all the duvet. Louis would argue but he doesn’t, because he enjoys even scooting closer to Harry, sharing the warmth radiating from each other’s bodies. He’d never tell anyone that. Especially Harry.

He learns that Harry loves coffee but he chooses tea when asked because “Someone has to be the pretentious tea-loving douchebag, okay? It’s a posh thing,” as he says. He likes it black too, “Like my soul,” he adds. And he’d laugh bitterly about it. As if he’s reminded about something else, but he’d rather not talk about it.

He learns that the boy is only nineteen years old. Nineteen and he already looks much more tired than Louis who is twenty one. As if he’d seen too much at a young age. Too much and Louis wishes he didn’t, then maybe he could watch Harry laugh all the time because he was beautiful, too beautiful.

He learns things that aren’t exactly important, most people would probably just forget but he doesn’t. Because as little as the information is, he holds onto those tiny little sparks that he sees when Harry mentions something that he likes. The animated gesture, the twinkling of his eyes, just before he quiets down and the spark fades away. Louis holds onto those, hoping that one day, they’ll never fade again.

They’re never together before or after that though and they’re never at the same place except for the couch. But Louis treasures those moments, even if he knows that when he wakes up the next morning, he’ll have a backache from sleeping on the couch and a tea that’s already growing cold at the coffee table. No Harry. Sometimes he wonders if all of those were just dreams, that he just made them all up and Harry’s just made of fiction. For minutes he’d actually consider that, because Harry is perfection, even with the unkempt curls and sad eyes, he is perfection. But then he’d smell Harry’s perfume on the blanket that they shared the previous night and he wonders if he’ll ever wake up with Harry beside him.

He learns about Gemma, the night that he excused himself to answer a phone call. When he comes back he finds the boy with his knees on the couch, looking expectantly at him.

Harry raises an eyebrow and asks with a smirk, “Who was that?” 

“Oh that’s Lottie, my sister. Said mum was asking when I’d come visit,” and slowly Harry’s face falls and he grows silent. 

“Oh,” was all he says before turning his face back to the television and pulling the blanket over himself.

Louis simply sits next to him, and Harry rests his head against Louis’ shoulder. The wisps of hair tickles Louis’ chin but he figures he doesn’t care. Because Harry is warm against him and his skin is milky against Louis’ own tanned complexion.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

“Do you have any sisters, Haz?” Louis started using that nickname on their third night to sleep on the couch together and Harry didn’t protest, so he continues using it.

Harry doesn’t answer.

“Are you asleep, now?” he asks, because Harry hasn’t been moving or talking for minutes.

He hears a sharp intake of breath and Harry shakes his head, his curls pressing against Louis’ neck and jaw even more.

They don’t speak for the rest of the show that they’re watching and Liam comes but he doesn’t say anything. He’s already gotten used to the setup and Louis wonders why Liam didn’t ask, because that’s what Liam is, he always asks.

“One.”

“What?”

“I have an older sister. Gemma.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

And he leaves it at that. He doesn’t ask anything else, because he knows he shouldn’t push. This is all that Harry is willing to give him right now, and that’s enough. 

Everyone likes Harry, including Eleanor and Danielle who lives in the ground floor of the building, but Louis doesn’t get jealous. Who wouldn’t love the boy? With his charming curls and piercing green eyes. With his lopsided smirk and his dry humor. He’s incredible, and incredibly fit Louis might add at that. But the boy with the untamed curls will probably never accept that, even with the huge ego that he pretends to have and the thick skin that he wears.

It’s late and Harry is nowhere to be found. Liam has texted Louis that he’s out with the other interns from the hospital and that he’ll stay with one of them since he doesn’t want to drive in case he gets drunk. Louis roles his eyes at that.  _As if he’ll ever get drunk._  

Harry comes home later, tipsy.

“Harry— what the fuck?” Harry falls on top of him with a thump, elbowing his chest. His face is only inches away from him. Louis stares Harry down, he thinks this is the greenest that he has ever seen Harry’s eyes. His pupils were blown wide, peeping from his half-lidded eyes. His cheeks were flushed and he looks so fucking gorgeous like that. 

Harry straddles on his lap, and he clasps his hands at the small of the boy’s back to prevent him from toppling over. Louis opens his mouth to ask something, to ask what the hell is happening but Harry easily shuts him up by closing the gap between their lips, his hand on Louis’ collar bone and on the base of his skull, tracing smooth circles that sends shivers down Louis’ spine. 

Louis’ eyes are open, watching Harry’s which are closed, fascinated and shocked, immobile for a moment or two. His lips are even softer than Louis thought they would be, and he closes his eyes, relaxing beneath Harry’s touch. Harry must have noticed because he then proceeds to deepen the kiss, licking Louis’ bottom lip. Louis’ opens his mouth and lets Harry’s tongue in, which automatically slides across his. The kiss is languid, yet he can feel the tension with every lick in his mouth that screams urgency, with every tug and nibble that shouts need. Harry tastes of combinations of alcoholic beverages but he doesn’t reek of sticky sweat and the smell of sex that club’s stinks of. No. He smells just like Harry’s cheap perfume that he bought at the small grocery store across the street, he smells just like Harry whenever he comes home from staying at Malik’s, keeping Danielle company and he smells just like Harry, the smell that is the only assurance Louis gets every morning that he didn’t sleep alone.

His hand is caressing the small of Harry’s back, past the hoodie that he realized Harry didn’t bother to put anything underneath. He is hot and burning under Louis’ palm, beads of sweat touching Louis’ fingertips as he drags his hand and  _feels_. Harry is tugging at the hem of Louis’ shirt and he pulls it upward. Louis raises his arms, momentarily breaking the kiss, Harry groans at the lost of contact, swiftly taking the shirt off and throwing it to the ground. Harry immediately crashes his lip on Louis’ while Louis’ fingers busies themselves on Harry’s hoodie, unzipping it quickly and removing it. He palms Harry’s chest, fingers tip toeing down to the perfectly sculpted abs that he was so sure of was non-existent. He grips Harry’s thighs, slowly dragging his hands upward but not touching Harry’s bulge that’s trying to escape from the tight material. Harry’s thumb is tracing Louis’ cheekbones before his lips leaves his mouth and finds his neck. He bites and he nips, licking when he hears Louis’ gasp and moan, carding his fingers on Harry’s hair and lightly scratching. When he’s satisfied that it’ll bruise he gets back to Louis’ lips, pressing a thumb on the mark that’s already starting to color.

When Harry starts to drag the waistband of Louis’ boxers he has half the mind to pull away and whisper “Room,” before squirming underneath Harry and slightly pushing him off. Harry gets up and he stands, gripping his hand and his fingers press on his wrist so hard he wonders if it will bruise too. 

The second they get into the room Harry pushes him onto the bed, quickly dragging Louis’ boxers down and working on his own trousers afterwards. He pushes himself between Louis’ legs, spreading them wider. Harry starts to ask, “Do you—” and Louis cuts him off by saying “under the bed.” Harry’s eyebrows are knit together in confusion that Louis’ struggles not to laugh. He knows better not to laugh in a situation where he is the one underneath and he has a naked man that he would seriously love to be fucked by. “I don’t want Liam finding anything like that in here, the man would freak out and probably be running off to Danielle for comfort or something,” he rambles in explanation. The room was dark if only from the light that’s coming from the lamp on his desk and he doesn’t see that Harry’s lips curve upward in a smile at his comment, somehow relieved that Louis and Liam clearly doesn’t engage in anything of sexual nature. 

Harry’s fingers fumble for the condoms and the lube and he finds a whole box of them. He brings the box and shoots a pointed look at Louis, as if he was going to see, but Louis understands when he shakes the contents of the box, creating a rustling sound. “What?” Louis smiles. “It’s better to be safe than sorry,” and he hears Harry’s throaty chuckle. Harry puts the condom on and slicks his fingers up. Louis lifts his legs and as he awaits for Harry’s finger. He feels the first digit penetrate him and he pushes his hips downward encouraging Harry to put a second in. They easily get down with prepping him up and he’ll never tell Harry that he may or may not have sneaked in fucking his own ass up in the tub thinking of Harry earlier. 

Harry slicks himself up and Louis braces himself, tucking his legs behind Harry’s back. Harry aligns his cock, slowly pushing into Louis, once he’s all the way inside Louis stops himself from letting out a shout that almost escapes his mouth. Harry himself almost collapses at the heat that surrounds his cock. “God you’re so fucking tight,” he groans, slowly rocking his hips in and out of Louis, who soon adjusts and pushes his own hips to meet Harry’s cock. He wraps his own hand, palming his cock and jerking himself off. He almost comes right then and there at the sight of Harry with his eyes tightly shut, a flush creeping from his chest, to his neck and the faint red that’s spread on his cheeks. He wants to close his own eyes but he couldn’t bear not see the look on Harry’s face, the open mouthed groans and gasps that he keeps making and the way his lips twist gorgeously. 

He’s already nearing his peak, the tension building and sitting low on his stomach. His eyes involuntarily presses closed and his mind keeps chanting  _harryharryharry._ His hand that was previously wrapped around his cock is now gripping Harry’s shoulder blades, shaking and furiously digging on the burning skin. Harry pulls almost all the way out, and he slams all the way in almost as fast. He mutters a series of close, harry, fuck, oh fucking fuck and a string of possibly the most creative swear words that he has ever said as he comes  _hard_  on his stomach. Harry thrusts all through his orgasm, coming just right next to him. His hand slowly loosens the grip on Harry’s shoulder as they both brace for the shocks that come afterward. Harry collapses on Louis, warm and sated. His lips are resting on the crook of Louis’ neck, pressing soft kisses and gently breathing. Louis’ fingers are on Harry’s head, scratching lightly on his scalp. It’s already proven and tested how relaxed Harry gets when Louis touches plays with his hair.  _Good to know,_  Louis thinks to himself.

Harry peals himself off Louis a few moments later, pulling out and tying the condom before throwing it at the bin next to the bed.  _I’d have to remind myself to throw that out later before Liam comes,_ Louis says to himself as Harry rolls over to the other side of the bed, rubbing his eyes before mumbling, “C’mere.” Harry lays his arm underneath Louis’ head and Louis scoots closer, laying his head on Harry’s chest. Harry buries his face on Louis’ head, smiling, but Louis will never know. He wraps his arm around Louis and Louis reaches across his stomach, wrapping it on Harry’s waist. 

Louis lifts his head and Harry feels his warm breath tickling his chin and he opens his eyes. “What?” 

“You’re sticky,” Louis sticks his tongue out.

He shakes his head at Louis and he breathes out, “You’re fault,” with a look that Louis wants to assume is fondness before he mutters, “Sleepy”, closing his eyes.

The next morning Louis wakes up to the most peaceful sleep that he’s ever had since he started sleeping on the couch. He wonders if it’s because he was all sexed up, but he likes to think that it’s because of Harry.

He opens his eyes with a smile but the smile soon disappears when he realizes that Harry, just like he always does, is not beside him anymore. 

He props himself up, sore and sticky everywhere. He almost ventures into self-loathing until he finds the staple cold tea at his bedside table. He takes it and starts drinking before he grimaces like he always does because the tea is all wrong and it’s cold but he drinks it anyways. There’s a note at the back of the cup and he smiles.

_Morning sunshine x_


	4. Chapter 4

He blinks twice before his eyes are blown wide open. It’s still dark outside and he forces himself to not fall into a deep slumber yet again, even though this is the first time that he has fallen asleep in a bed for weeks and the mattress is soft and it smells of detergent. It’s dark and the only light is the lamp from Louis’ desk but his eyes easily trains themselves in the pitch black, slowly adjusting and running a course on the things that hung on frames, covering the walls of the room. 

There were lots of pictures, but most of them he assumes are Liam’s because none of the people in the photographs look anything like Louis. He stands up, ridding himself of the guilt that creeps on his chest and lands a punch to his gut. It feels like he’s abandoning Louis, who has his arm across his chest, and breathing softly against his jaw. The breathing came gentle and steady, tickling his chin, but he pushes past the irrational feeling that pounds lowly on his stomach. He blames it to indigestion or probably the alcohol or maybe he’s just tired, like he’s been for the past few years. He’s been tired for about eight years now and it doesn’t feel like he’s going to have his rest until he dies. Which apparently he isn’t so lucky about too, the painful disappointment of his not-death remains as an uncomfortable reminder that he is a disappointment, crippling his mind. 

He doesn’t do intimacy, that’s all. He doesn’t feel and most importantly, he doesn’t  _fall_. And right now, Louis’ face is making his stomach do back flips. Butterflies don’t fly in there, they don’t flutter beautifully, they brush their wings on his internal organs, prodding and it hurts the way that it doesn’t hurt at all.

Louis’ is a golden goddess, nope not a god, a goddess. He has sun kissed skin  and Harry doesn’t have any idea how he has it, because it seems as if he’s eternally tan even with the harsh weather that is England. He has wisps of feathery hair that sticks to his forehead when not perfectly sculpted and he’ll never say it to Louis but he likes it better when he’s messy and his hair is not tousled skillfully. He also likes it when Louis tells him about running around the apartment, tripping over his pant leg, two hours before lunch because yet again he forgot to wake up early. He likes it when Louis reeks of his cologne in the morning and the blanket is tightly wrapped across his lean body. And he doesn’t like it when he leaves Louis before he wakes, with a cup of tea that he knows isn’t good at all but Louis keeps saying that it is. He wonders if Louis even drinks the tea that he makes or he just throws it in the sink because it’s cold and that’s why he doesn’t know that it tastes horrible. But at the back of his mind, Harry knows that he drinks it, imagining Louis’ face contort adorably at the disgusting taste, but drinks it anyways. Because that’s just Louis. Louis loves everyone and likes everything and everyone loves Louis as well. 

He picks up the tight trousers that they have thrown lazily to the floor in haste of wanting to get their hands on each other. He slowly puts it on, watching Louis’ arms wrap themselves around his body, fingers curling tightly and furiously and Harry doesn’t accept the idea that digs into his mind, crawling under his skin. That maybe Louis misses his touch, maybe Louis needs his body against his, because no.  _Harry doesn’t do intimacy._

He reaches for the duvet that is on Louis’ hips, lifting it to Louis’ shoulders which the boy’s fingers instinctively tighten upon contact, clutching it as if it’s a life line and his entire being depends heavily on it. He looks away when Louis’ eyebrows furrow and he hears a low groan. He looks away and he doesn’t know why, he shakes his head when he thinks that he’s ashamed of himself for leaving when he should be waking up beside him and admiring his heaven sent cheekbones and blue orbs when the sunlight starts to carefully shower the room. Maybe Louis looks even better in the morning, even better than he looks when he’s underneath Harry and he’s burning beneath his touch. Even better when Harry’s able to pull the most beautiful sounds out of his mouth as he pounds on him and his hands shake and his body trembles in pleasure. More gorgeous than when he is writhing and his eye rolls back as he comes hard. He fights the urge to come back to bed and tuck Louis in his arms because he knows that he cannot bear to see Louis in the morning, because he knows that he’s even more beautiful with the sun caressing his tanned skin and his naked body. 

He pads his way to the kitchen, making another cup of tea and coming back to the room to put it above the drawer, careful not to make a sound and disturb Louis’ sleep. This should be the perfect moment to leave, since he’s done with what he usually does. The tea is there, waiting to grow cold and waiting for Louis to wake up late like every other morning since they started having sleepovers on the couch, watching a show that they both pretend to like till they end up watching Friends instead. But instead he pulls a pad of sticky notes on Louis’ desk, peeling a bright yellow one.

_morning x_

He jots down carefully, the cap of the black sharpie tuck on his lips. But he crumples the paper and shoves it down the front pocket of his pants.

He thinks again.

_morning sunshine x_

Because Louis is indeed sunshine. With his bright smile and flawless humor that never fails to work even at the early wake of the morning. With his skin that is always tanned and his boxers that is always of the loudest colors, ranging from bright red to neon green. Louis is the sun and it’s not long before he starts burning Harry from his very core. Not long.

If he smiles fondly at Louis when he catches a glimpse of him gently nibbling on the edge of the duvet like a teething child, Louis will never know. And Louis will most definitely never know if he pushes the hair that has covered Louis’ right eye and if he presses a kiss on his forehead just because he wants to. 

He walks the streets like he always does when he leaves Louis to sleep some more. He tries not to imagine what Louis’ eyes look like as he wills himself to get up. As his eyelashes flutter and his blue eyes shine against the creeping strays of light. He tries not to imagine how his face will fall when he realizes that Harry isn’t there to bid him a good morning, but he’s probably used to it now, used to getting disappointed by Harry every morning. And he tries not to imagine how wide his smile will be, the moment that he sees the sticky note that he pasted at the back of the cup of tea. Will the tea taste bitter or will it be bland after he sees the note? He knows it will taste sweeter on his tongue, but he doesn’t want to think that. He wants Louis to complain, to ask more from him, to push him so he has a reason to hate him. Because as far as this is going, he can’t find a reason to leave Louis, he can’t say that Louis is nagging him or getting onto his nerves, because he doesn’t. Louis doesn’t push him over the edge, he doesn’t ask questions that Harry can’t answer. He just sighs, and for once in such a long time, he can’t see pity in those eyes. He looks at him with something that Harry hasn’t deserved in such a long time. But that isn’t love.  _It shouldn’t be love._

He reaches the diner and he asks for the usual cup of coffee. Eleanor is beaming at him and he smiles tentatively.

“You’re too cheerful for such a godforsaken hour, you know that?” He knows that he has been a bit cold to her when they first met. But Eleanor is unwavering with her grin that reaches from ear to ear ever since. And if Danielle likes her, then there’s probably a reason to like her too. Dani’s not very easy to please. Which is a bit ironic considering that she frequently gets shitfaced with Niall and Zayn. Basically, her circle of friends consists of fucked up people with broken dreams and untold secrets but that doesn’t seem to bother her, because she’s lovely like that.

“Well, I can’t help it if I’m a morning person,” she turns around and her skirt twirls with her, creating a balloon momentarily. 

“It’s not even morning yet. It’s 5 am,” he leans on the cash register.

“So who’s the lucky girl … or guy?” she asks when she hands him the cup of coffee. Black and all.

He’d be offended by the question if only he’s not curious how she figured it out. “What makes you ask?” he raises an eyebrow and smirks. 

Eleanor laughs, “Babe, I know when someone got laid. You’re all smiley and you’re talking to me. Sex is the only miracle that can do that.”

He wonders if he’s actually been smiling so hard that even Eleanor noticed. Is he really that happy? He touches his face and he realizes that his cheeks and jaw are starting to hurt, but he can’t stop grinning. 

“See? I told Dani I’ll win you over soon. She should start believing in me,” he takes a sip of the coffee. Bitter, he thinks to himself.

He almost chokes himself with the coffee when he hears her continue, ” … she better be ready because she’s going to be fucked so hard tonight.” Eleanor is now clutching her stomach at the sight of him struggling. He thinks some of the coffee even managed to come out of his nose. He makes a face, disgusted at the image. 

“Are you alright, love?” she’s waving a napkin at him. He reaches for it and starts to towel his damp hoodie. 

It takes a while before he starts talking again, “So you and Dani …?” the question hangs on the air for a while. 

“Yeah. Didn’t you know? I’m going to make her fucking pay for it. I mean, not mentioning me to you?” she fake pouts and Harry wonders why he hasn’t been friends with her before.

“I just thought her and Liam are together. He’s always talking about her, like she’s some unrequited love or something,” he says with honesty.

“Liam and Danielle grew up together. Basically like brothers and sisters, before they met Louis back in Doncaster. Then Dani moved out, I met her, we fell in love, you know the usual love story?” Eleanor’s looking away from him, as if she’s reminiscing about their memories together. She’s smitten, definitely smitten, and he can’t help but feel happy for her. 

“Here, take this. Louis loves cupcakes,” she hands him a brown paper bag which he assumes are home made.

“It smells good,” he compliments.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere Harry,” she quips, “And I didn’t even make those. I can’t bake to save my life. And he did great with the play.”

“Play? What play?” he’s pretty sure Louis has never mentioned anything about it before. Surely he wouldn’t forget if Louis said something about his life. Harry practically hangs on to every word that Louis lets slip about his personal life. The life that Harry isn’t in. It burns, and he pretends that it doesn’t.

“Oh he writes. You should see them some time. He might even take you himself but he’s kinda shy about those things,” she’s already pushing him outside the establishment.

“Throwing out the only living creature besides yourself? Someone might break in and rape you and throw a brick at your head or something,” he rambles but Eleanor is determined.

“Out. Out. You’re ruining my morning with all these talk. Go and make Louis love you or something,” she mumbles under her breath and he’s sure she’s just joking. But the words sting,  _That’s exactly what I’m scared of_.

He finds himself staring at his shoes, muttering ridiculous things to himself. Horrible pick up lines, cheesy lines, filthy as hell lines, you name it, he’s probably doing it right now. Right now as he stands in front of the apartment door, clutching a bag of cupcakes early in the morning.

  _Oh I give up_ , he falls on his ass and slumps across the hallway. This is no use, he used to be able to make girls throw their fucking knickers and bras at him. Guys let him fuck them hard, dirty and messy and he knows it’s painful but they don’t say anything. He breaks hearts for no reason, and he doesn’t understand how he’s tripping over himself for someone who he already fucked last night. He’s charming, he knows that, even with the worn out look that he’s been sporting. But he knows he can get Louis and if this was someone else maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe he’d use him and let him slip through his fingers when he wants to, when he’s tired of him, when they’re tired of each other. But Louis is different. Just different.

Louis comes out after a while, sitting down with him. 

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

They don’t speak but it doesn’t feel awkward. Louis starts munching on the cupcakes that Harry doesn’t even remember giving to Louis. But Harry can see that he’s happy and it warms his heart like a small ray of light lounging right in his chest. Warm. Warm and happy and contented.

Louis presses a sloppy kiss into his cheek and he pretends to be disgusted, pulling a face and wiping the spit. Louis stands up and tugs on his wrist, urging him to follow him inside. Louis’ back is turned from him and he wraps his hands on his shoulder, kissing the back of Louis head, his eyes closed. He feels Louis sigh and he leans to Harry, his back against his chest. 

“What was that for?” Louis whispers.

He doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know what to say. But Louis doesn’t push. Because that’s what Louis is, he just doesn’t push.

They’re watching Friends again, but not really watching it. Louis is lying on top of him and they press chaste kisses to each other, just content to have each other. It feels good, he admits to himself. He pushes the thoughts that starts to break into his head, he starts to feel suffocated. Louis notices and he just kisses Harry, small and reassuring, at the corner of his lips. 

They might have a deadline, Louis will get tired of being understanding, he knows it, but he can deal with it some other time. Not when Louis is smiling at him lazily, their bodies pressing against each other. They fit so perfectly. He just hopes it doesn’t wear out until he’s ready to let him go. Which might never come.

Liam comes home soon, he just shakes his head at them. Louis doesn’t notice because he’s already asleep and pretty soon, he can feel his own droopy eyes betraying him because he falls asleep as well.

He wakes up to the voice of Niall all perky and chirpy and nice but annoying as hell. He’d like to pretend that he was nursing a hangover, but he wasn’t exactly drunk last night. To be honest, he wasn’t even the least bit drunk, but he’d like to pretend he was. To lessen the burn, to at least pretend to himself that he’s not falling. 

“Niall it’s still fucking early. Fuck off,” he swats his hand that’s shaking his shoulder. 

“And stop shouting, you might wake Louis,” he grips Louis tighter, fisting his shirt. As if he’s going to float away if he doesn’t. As if Louis’ going to leave if he loosens his grip.

“Aww .. you guys are so cute,” Niall mocks. “I think I’m going to puke,” he fake retches.

“I swear I’ll fucking kill you,” he hisses. 

Louis groans, kissing Harry’s neck. His lips stay there for a while, just brushing softly and murmuring nonsense. He wonders if Louis is dreaming of nice things. He hopes he is.

“Hey, be nice to me. We’re all going out tonight. Liam, Zayn, me, Dani, El, you and Louis. I’m going to pay,” Niall’s grinning at him and Harry wonders if his cheeks are always flushed. 

“What’s the catch?” 

Niall furrows his eyebrows. “How dare you think there is a catch. I’m just a naturally good person with a kind heart, Harold.”

“Not short for Harold.”

“What?”

“My name’s just Harry, Niall. It’s not a nickname,” he stops himself from laughing as it might disturb Louis’ sleep but he gives Niall a huge smile. 

Niall let’s out a long  _ooooohhh_  before he chucks his phone at Harry. He puts his number and throws it back.

“Ha … rold.” Niall recites as he types the name for the contact. Niall waggles his eyebrows at him, teasing. 

He soon forgets about Niall when Louis stirs and sighs a muffled, “Haz” onto his neck.

“Cute!” Niall sticks his tongue out before running out of the room as fast as he can. He figures that he’s probably scared Harry will strangle him with an AV cord or beat him senseless. Not that he can actually do anything with Louis’ weight settled on top of him. 

“You’re staring Haz,” Louis smiles against his skin, his hand tightening on his sides. He kisses the top of Louis’ head, smiling back.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere right now?” he tenses but Louis lifts his head, facing him.

Louis attempts to kiss his lips but he falls short, catching his chin instead and Harry lets out a throaty laugh and Louis laughs too.

“Hey, you’re laughing!” Louis’ eyes are staring wide at him and he struggles not to laugh again. 

“You look like an 8 year old who just discovered Santa isn’t real,” he pushes Louis’ hair off his forehead.

“That makes you a pedophile Hazza. That means I wouldn’t be allowed to suck you off,” Louis feigns a hurt look and sighs sharply. “And I’m older than you anyways. I’m ooooold,” he says with a scratchy voice. 

“Is that what you do for a living?” he inquires jokingly. Louis’ elbows are digging on his ribs but he doesn’t dare push him off. He’s all propped up, his chin on his hands, thinking.

“What? Sucking people off? How very dare you!” Louis acts as if he’s going to stand up, but Harry clings harder and the frown dissolves into a smile.

“I was talking about the voice, do you act or something? You just strike me as someone who does,” he ignores the fact that Louis tenses above him.

“Nah …” he sounded hurt, his voice breaking a bit but he feigns a cheerful smile though his eyes doesn’t crinkle at the sides, “I write stuff and other people act.”

“Is that why you’re always dashing out of the apartment and you always work on your desk so late?” he pouts and Louis bites his lower lip.

He lets go and Harry runs his tongue on his lip.

“Naughty boy,” Louis pokes on his dimple, and he looks positively amused. He looks like a child who’s making a snow angel after being deprived of seeing snow for such a long time. He thinks of those times when he spends so much time in hospitals and he’s forbidden to go out when the snow starts falling. He watches as other children make snowmen and snow angels, throwing snowballs and catching the white flakes with their tongue. 

“I wonder if I can curl myself and sleep there.” 

“What?” 

Louis realizes that he’s been voicing his thoughts out loud.

“N-nothing,” he falls back Harry’s chest with an oomph and he tries to hide his face from Harry.

Harry plays with his hair, threading his fingers and ruffling the limp hair that he usually sculpts so carefully.

And they just lay there, quiet and breathing each other, because that’s perfect just like that. No words needed, just basking in each other’s personal spaces. And he’s scared, scared that he might not be able to let go when this, whatever this is, reaches it’s inevitable end.He doesn’t think he’s been happy in a long while, and Louis makes him forget about all the screw ups that he’s done in his past. Louis makes him feel as if there’s reason to be happy in this world, even though he’s seen enough to make him believe otherwise. Louis is Louis and when he’s holding Harry this tight in his arms, burying his fingers and digging on his sides he’s almost sure they’ll bruise, he wants to believe that they can last. _But that’s just another wishful thinking, isn’t it? Can’t possibly happen. No, not in this lifetime._

He closes his eyes and a tear escapes, a single tear that soon dries up like a lost memory. He wonders what would have happened if he met Louis way before all of these things happened to him. Before Des and Anne died, before Gemma ran away, he would have given himself to him entirely. He would’ve dived head first without looking back because he still believes that things could fall into place without you meaning to. That people have soul mates to find and hearts to fix. They might get hurt and they might fight, but he was pretty damn sure back then that it wouldn’t last a while. That if two people were meant to be together they’ll always find a way to each other.

He saw his father and mother. He saw how in love they were. He saw how perfect they were for each other and that’s why he believed in a happily ever after. Because when you’ve got kids and you’ve got a family to go home to that’s the happily ever after, isn’t it? That’s supposed to be how it lasts, how to continue for eternity. But his father had to die and not come back from work. He had to watch his mother be reduced into tears after a phone call, tears pooling and dropping that his father wasn’t there to catch. It was like rainfall, he thought back then. Like a storm that won’t stop, except his mothers tears were salty and he didn’t get the urge to dance under that rain. He had to learn that his sister was being abused by their stepfather and he didn’t have the guts to protect her. To defend her honor or something equally as shitty but as meaningful as that. He should have fought for her but he didn’t, because he listened to his sister when she whispered to not tell anyone inside that cold and horrible hospital bedroom. He didn’t run away with her because Anne was sick back then, already deteriorating. But he watched her run nonetheless, because she deserved to escape. After all her sacrifices, she deserved the freedom. Then his mother died. He never expected that a person could be this fucking unlucky. He thought that only sad movies bring this much tears, that maybe he’d soon tire and dry up and have no more tears to cry. And he does, he dries up, tired and empty. 

He should have met Louis before. 

Maybe there would have been a heart to give him.

When Niall texts him to come down to the pub across the street they immediately try to shower and get dressed. They managed to finish showering not together (Louis insisted not to because they won’t be able to shower at all) but the getting dressed part is a whole other story. It is a complicated game of trying to get the clothes on while simultaneously trying to get the clothes off each other. Louis puts one leg in but Harry pushes him into the bed. Louis tries to put the shoes on and Harry’s just right there pulling it off and giving him a foot massage. 

“We gotta get there Haz, they’re going to be suspicious,” Louis breathlessly moans while Harry nips on his neck. 

“Please? Just a little more time …” his voice rather commanding than pleading. 

Louis manages to toe him off with a subtle kick to the groin but Harry was quick to dodge.

“Oi! That was uncalled for. You could have damaged some goods.”

“Nope. Too small, I can’t even reach it,” Louis turns around fixing his hair.

Harry crouches to the ground, crawling until he’s in front of Louis’ crotch.

He plays with the zipper with a smirk on his face and when Louis’ pants drop down the flooring and he faces Louis’ cock that points true north, he takes him all in his mouth in a quick movement. They haven’t got much time after all.

 _“Fucking hell Haz,”_ Louis’ voice was a strangled mess, pitchy and all wrecked. 

He realizes he likes it that way as he hums happily, getting Louis over the edge.

“I fucking told you we’re going to get late,” Louis snaps at him on their way to the pub. He’s already pulling him by his wrist, causing him to slid a couple of times on the tiled floor of the building. Luckily he was able to jump the puddle that was sneakily waiting at the ground floor, just before the main door.

Cobblestones.

He remembers the first time that he was here. Back when he thought that Liam was going to rape him and murder him for some sacrificial ritual. He laughs happily to himself. At least now he knows that none of it was true. Especially when all he can see is Louis and his wide smile, his caramel hair flowing with the wind and his eyes sparkling like lake water, when it reflects a clear sky. 

“Now, they’re going to make fun of us. My hair is a mess,” Louis stops in front of a closed shop beside the pub, checking his reflection. If only he knew how lovely he is, with or without the windswept hair.

“Come on Lou. You’re hair is alright,” he offers a hand and a smile.

“You only say that because you’re curly hair is always lovely and all you have to do is do that shaky thing that you always do and it’s all good. I envy that hair of yours,” Louis’ eyes are narrow and he has a pout on his lips. 

Harry kisses it away and he replies, “It’s only because my ears are all weird and I try to hide it.” 

Louis reaches for his ear, thumbing the lobe. “Quirky,” he says with a cheeky grin.

“Oi! Here!” Niall shouts as soon as they enter the pub. Almost every customer inside turns to look at him but he simply shrugs it off like it’s no big deal.

“Quit shouting Nialler. Or I’ll fucking shout to your ear tomorrow morning when you’re hungover.” It’s Zayn, sitting in between Niall and Liam. 

“Shut up Malik, you know I don’t get hungover.”

“Is that so?” he says as he slides to the booth next to Louis.

“Irish,” Liam says as if that’s going to explain everything. Liam must have noticed that he’s still as baffled, “It’s true though, this guy right here is always the only one left cheerful after a night out. I met them when he was dragging Zayn’s ass out of a club when Louis and I first moved in here. I still didn’t know that they were our neighbours back then because we never met the people across our apartment, we assumed that they were like ghosts or something.”

Louis butts in, “Yep, we were having bets about whether they were vampires or goths or something equally as creepy because we don’t hear anything from there. Turns out they were just two alcoholic assholes with separation anxiety.”

“Hey! We don’t have separation anxiety!” Niall shouts.

Danielle comes in, Eleanor and her hand in hand.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. That’s exactly why you can’t live a day without seeing Zayn then, huh?” she says, pulling two chairs and placing it next to them. Harry can see Eleanor stifling a laugh.

Zayn looks as if he was going to say something, Dani points a finger at him, “And don’t you dare make fun of Niall, Malik. You come to our apartment every Christmas in your pajamas with a tub of ice cream, crying and whining about what’s going to happen if Niall doesn’t come back from his annual visit to his family in Ireland. You keep saying that you don’t like The N—-” Zayn managed to reach for Danielle’s mouth, covering it with his palm to muffle the next line but he soon recovers his hand with a disgusted look.

“You fucking licked me!” he protests but Danielle just continues with her anecdote.

“As I was saying, you keep saying that you don’t like The Notebook but you always watch it while you’re eating your whiskey flavoured ice cream, crying about Niall’s departure when he does it every fucking year.”

“Whiskey flavoured?” Liam asks. 

It’s Eleanor’s turn to answer, “Technically it’s just Vanilla sometimes it’s even Cookies and Cream but then he starts pouring whatever alcohol he brings along to our apartment.”

“Well who wouldn’t need to get drunk? I have to get my sense all screwed up and foggy so I can tolerate the sex noises coming from your room. Christmas is supposed to be a time for family and other stuff like that. All you do is celebrate it by having sex.”

“No need to get jealous just because I get more pussy than you and I can make a girl scream louder than you ever will.

Harry’s just watching, enamored by the dynamics of this group. Louis is quiet though but then he realizes that he’s watching too, fascinated as well. 

“Liam’s flustered over here. You guys better tone it down or there’s going to be blood in here.”

“I-I’m not,” Liam stutters. “I’m going to fetch some pints,” he says.

“I’ll join you,” Zayn follows him to the bar.

Niall’s waggling his eyebrows at Danielle, then to Eleanor, then to Louis. 

“What’s that about?” he blurts out at Niall.

Niall faces him, “We’re going to get them drunk as fuck tonight. And they better fuck or we’re all walking away disappointed.”

“Zayn has a thing for Liam but he just can’t make a move. That’s pretty shit for someone who can make girls fall in love with him just with his moody face or something. Liam has a crush on Zayn too but he hasn’t been with a bloke before so he’s being all dodgy,” Louis whispers at him.

“But I thought … with Niall?” he said a little too loudly.

“Nah man, ‘em straight,” Niall says casually, sneaking glances at Zayn who’s trying to flirt with Liam who’s trying to hide his blushing face. 

“You know for a straight bloke Nialler, you sure enjoy the company of people who swing either for both teams or for the other team,” Louis’ laughing beside him just in time for Zayn and Liam to come back to the booth.

“You guys are cool. And I get the girls who try to hit on you,” he answers with a wink.

Turns out he wasn’t ready for what he signed up for. At first he thought that Louis was just a loud drunk, that he’s quiet with other people like he is when he’s with Harry but apparently ‘loud’ really is his element. He commandeers the place and tons of girls hit on him but he stays close to Harry. Flirting with them for a little while before slipping a hint that he loves dick as much as they do. They dare each other to do things, teasing when they refuse until they give in and do whatever drunken shit they’re tasked to perform. By three in the morning, all of them are shitfaced except for Liam who was determined not to get as drunk as the others stopping at 3 pints and setting his foot down when Danielle and Eleanor are already starting to make out with each other.

“Come on maaaan, ish life pooooorn,” Niall’s whining at Liam for tearing Eleanor and Danielle away from each other.

“You’re a fucking pervert you know that?” Liam’s swatting El and Dani who keeps trying to get their lips on each other. 

Zayn’s already asleep on the table and Niall’s scared that if they touch him he’ll wake up and kill them. Louis’ head is resting on Harry’s shoulder and his thumb is tracing smooth circles on his hand. 

“You alright?” he asks.

“Mmmm .. sleepy,” Louis adjusts his head, pushing close and pressing his nose on Harry’s neck.

“You smell nice,” he mumbles and Harry’s glad that he doesn’t notice the goose pimples that appears when Louis breathes against his skin.  _Warm_ , the only thing that registers to his mind is warm. Louis is always warm.  _Just like the sun,_ he adds. 

“Do you want to go home?” 

Louis is silent for a couple of moments and he decides to watch as Liam tries to get Danielle and Eleanor out of the bar while tagging Niall along who currently has Zayn on his shoulder.

“Piggyback,” he can feel that Louis is smiling on his neck.

“Come on then, I’m getting you home,” he disentangles his hand from Louis’, crouching at the edge of the booth. Louis follows, wrapping his legs on Harry’s waist and his arm on Harry’s neck. 

Louis keeps mumbling things to Harry on their way home. And if Harry believes him when he says “I really really like you” at least ten times, no one has to know.

“Did I tell you that I like you? Because I really really do,” Louis says, pointing a finger too close to his face as he struggles to strip him down to boxers.

The room is dark and Liam is staying over at Zayn and Niall’s to keep them from drowning in their own vomit or from sneaking to the pub again.

“You already did, but I’d love to hear it over and over again,” he replies, helping Louis get tucked into bed.

“I really really like you,” Louis whispers. “Please don’t go.”

And when he slips under the duvet and Louis wraps his arm across his stomach, his cheek pressed on Harry’s chest, he tries so hard not to say,  _I don’t think I can even if I wanted to._


	5. Chapter 5

It’s there. It’s right there.

It’s uncomfortable and crippling.

It’s unsettling and it serves as a ticking clock.

A time bomb that’s waiting to explode but he doesn’t know how to detonate.

It sits low on his stomach yet it leaps high enough to make his heart skip a beat, to create a lodged mass on his throat.

A lodged mass high on his throat, yet he doesn’t want to puke out, to let go of.

He has asked himself a million times why he’s still in here. A thousand times why he’s waiting with a beer in hand, watching droplets of water sliding freely and pooling on the edge of the other bottle on the coffee table. A hundred times why he’s in front of a room that he doesn’t own, knocking on a door expecting a muffled reply asking him to come inside. Ten times why he’s staring into bright blue eyes, feeling that he’s drowning yet not scared, being dragged deeper and deeper but he doesn’t want to surface. And there’s always an answer.

It comes in a small comfortable weight sitting on his lap, or a hand tightly clutching his waist, or a flutter of eyelash on his cheek, or a sloppy kiss on his hand, or fingertips tracing the small of his back, or patches of violets and blues and reds on his neck and his shoulder, but mostly on the inside of his arm and on his hips. It comes in a small package, not any taller than him, who can bury his head on his chest followed by a sigh, yet can protect him from anything, who holds the chains that tug on his heart, who can break him into a million pieces with a single word. It comes with quick wit yet loving gaze to soothe the pain of his sharp tongue. It comes in a French sounding name that shows disdain when its name is mispronounced. It comes in a name that can he can say forever and not get tired of. It comes in a name that gurgles softly on his throat, rolls smoothly on his tongue, and gently floats out of his lips. 

_“Louis.”_

_  
_He’s standing in front of the door, debating on whether or not to turn the knob that he’s been clutching for a second or two, maybe ages, who’s even keeping count?

“Come in.”

He turns it, pushing the door open with a prolonged creak. He reminds himself to oil it one day. Not now though, not when Louis has his feet lifted on the table, dangerously close to a cup of what Harry assumes is coffee.

(“You don’t even drink coffee Lou,” Harry mentioned that day when Louis knocked over a cupful, spilling all of its hot, dark contents into his stack of paper.

“What?” Louis had asked, though Harry’s unsure if Louis’ actually listening to him. Too busy with trying to save whatever’s left of his works. When he’s sure he’s salvaged everything that wasn’t brown and wet and dripping he takes his bare footed steps across the living room and to the kitchen, crouching on the bottom cabinet for a dry rag. He spent a little too much time ogling the joggers-clad bottom obscenely waving  _too far_ from him. 

“Like what you see, Styles?” Louis turns around, popping his hips and pouting his lips with a wink. 

“It’s not my fault you’re wearing those joggers,” he tries.

“I wore it for you though,” Louis smiles and walks back to the living room with the crusty dry rag. He finishes mopping the coffee that spilled on the table and the floor before throwing the piece of cloth with a contented sigh. 

“C’mere,” is all he says, making grabby hands at Louis to take the space beside him on the couch. 

Louis extends his legs across Harry’s lap, anchoring his arms safely around his neck. He hears a sniffle so he repeats, “You don’t even drink coffee, Lou.”

Louis simply buries his head even more on the crook of his neck.

“I like it, reminds me of you,” he murmurs on Harry’s skin.

They lay on the bed that night, watching the papers they hang to dry on a make-shift clothes line. Louis’ limbs are tangled with his and the older lad’s fingers are carding his hair in distracting circles. Harry breathes in and wonders if this is just a dream. He breathes out, Louis is still there.)

“You don’t even drink coffee, Lou,” he says just because it fits. 

Louis shuffles on his seat, turning his head to meet Harry’s gaze. “Reminds me of you,” he simply says as if that’s supposed to explain everything. And it does, because it makes sense in Harry’s head.

He walks closer, draping his arm over Louis’ shoulders. He kisses the part where Louis’ shoulder and neck touches before meeting Louis’ lips that’s patiently waiting. He buries his nose on his temple, inhaling with his eyes firmly closed. He hears Louis sigh contentedly so he smiles against the limp hair.

“What’s that for?” he whispers on his ear when he finally reads the paper tucked neatly between the pads of Louis’ thumb and pointer finger. 

“Liam,” Louis’ voice is filled with excitement so he doesn’t hear the sharp intake of breath Harry makes.

“And you’re organizing a party because?” he asks because he knows he’s being unfair to Liam. But Louis’ known him forever and he still doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“He’s turning twenty, and he threw me a party when I turned twenty one. Though it wasn’t really a bash, it turned into quite the pity party after gallons of booze and when the noise died down,” Louis reminisces with a bitter chuckle.

He already knows how much Louis hates to be reminded that he’s no longer a teenager by this time. He knows how Louis’ crinkles his face in disgust when he hears about his age but Harry thinks he’s starting to learn to love it.

“Humor your old man here, will you? I’ve got a party to plan and I need you people to help me,” Louis says taking his feet off the table and breathing deeply one last time before he lets himself off Harry’s grasp.

“I don’t think Liam’s fond of me,” he mutters to Louis’ turned back, he doesn’t add  _I’m not fond of him either._

“Oh Liam loves you, darling. Everybody else does,” Louis walk backs to him. “It’s the curls you see,” he adds, looping a finger on Harry’s hair with a cheerful grin.

_I’m not so sure of that_ , he wants to say but he lets it go because Louis is smiling at him with his eyes all sparkly and blue. He wonders briefly if Louis is actually a fairy and maybe he is because Louis turns around and glides across the room with his bare feet and charm, leaving a soft thud at every step, taps on the floor that Harry has come to memorize.

(“You do realize what you’re doing right?” Liam approaches him one night, Louis’ already asleep, warm and sated.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Liam.” He knows where this conversation is going but he’d rather pretend not to know, not to care.

He holds out a hand to reach for the kettle on the stove but Liam stops him, “Louis likes you very much. Don’t do this to him.”

He retrieves his hand, letting it fall to his side. It curls into a fist and he lets it stay like that, his fingernails digging the inside of his palm. Maybe it’ll bleed,  _I hope it bleeds_ , he remembers thinking that time. Anything to distract him from bringing his fist to Liam’s face.

“I’m not doing anything to him, Liam,” he keeps Liam’s gaze, locking it down.

“I just don’t want him to get hurt,” he realizes that Liam is looking at him with a softer expression.  _He’s pleading_ , and it catches him off guard. What if he really is hurting Louis?

He shakes his head and opens his palms, stretching it for a while, wriggling it on his side as if it has lost all of its feeling. 

“Look Liam, I’m very thankful that you brought me here and you gave me a home to stay when I needed it but you don’t have to worry about Louis.”

“Promise me that you’ll stop running away from him.” He looks at Liam, confused. “I’ve seen it Harry. I’ve seen his face when he wakes up all disappointed that you’re no longer there. He tries to hide it with a smile but he’s scared, he’s always scared. He’s terrified that one day, after all this time, you’ll just get up, leave and never come back. Don’t make him feel that way. Please.”

“I- I can’t promise that Liam. Sorry,” he turns away and heads back to the room. He doesn’t slam the door shut because he doesn’t want to wake Louis. 

_“I’m not hurting you, am I?”_ he murmurs against Louis’ cool forehead.

Louis doesn’t respond but he hugs Harry tighter. Harry takes that as an answer.)

 

He blows Louis in the morning.

When his skin is sweaty from sleep and his cock is straining against his boxers. He looks innocent that way, eyebrows knit in a furrow and his eyelids tightly shut.

Harry wonders what he’s dreaming of. If he dreams in colour because Harry’s been dreaming in colour since he met Louis. Ever since the day he met the boy who has the deep blue ocean for eyes, he’s been dreaming in colour. Harry hopes that Louis dreams in colour, because he knows how hard it is to dream in black and white, in darkness and in nothing at all. He knows how to be haunted by nightmares that never seem to go away. In pitch black and just voices echoing and bouncing off dark walls that come close with every step he takes. He doesn’t want Louis to hear the cackles, doesn’t want him to be swallowed by the darkness and the suffocating walls.

He doesn’t want to lose Louis.

So he takes him all in his mouth and he bobs his head up and down. He takes him as far as he could and he goes deeper, deeper and deeper in hunger. He’s hungry and he has a void to fill and when Louis’ cock is in his mouth, Louis absent-mindedly bucking his hips up and thrusting just because, he feels the void turn smaller. When he hears Louis gasping for breath finally waking up, he feels the hole in his chest stitch up. It’s messy and it hurts, just like he knows his throat will be for the earlier part of the day but he continues. Because it makes him feel complete, as if he belongs to someone. When Louis comes inside his mouth in a loud moan, his fingers clutching on Harry’s scalp, tangled in a mess of unruly curls, he swallows. He swallows because he’s hungry. He swallows because Louis fills the emptiness in his heart. He swallows because he wants to, because he needs to feel Louis inside of him. And somehow, when his head is between Louis’ thighs and Louis is watching him swallow, everything he wants is for Louis to feel what he feels. He wants Louis to feel how his chest tightens, he wants Louis to taste how good he tastes, how raw his throat is and how Louis’ cum goes down on his throat in one obscene bob of his Adam’s apple.

Louis pulls him up to meet his lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” he says with a smirk, hovering above Louis’ lips.

Louis smiles and puts his hand on his neck, pulling him in.

He doesn’t say the  _I love you_  that is gnawing on his lean chest and his rusty, poisoned heart. He settles for the languid kiss and the naked body beneath him,  _I don’t deserve you_ , he thinks to himself.

He fingers him in the afternoon.

He joins him in the shower and he kisses him with intent. He palms Louis’ cock in his huge hand and he holds him in place with the other. He pins him against the cold tiled wall, where the hot water doesn’t reach. Louis’ body shouts in contact with a shudder but the lad doesn’t say a thing, couldn’t say a thing when Harry’s stroking his hard on in the slowest pace. Louis moans and he bucks his hips, thrusting in Harry’s hand in a messy, erratic motion. He lets his hand fall, pulling away and Louis looks at him in confusion. The hot water from the shower is hitting the skin of his back, like tiny little pins pricking the sensitive pale skin. It burns and it hurts and he hisses at the pain. He feels mad, overwhelmed with power and anger. It might be the hot water licking the back side of his body, kissing his skin with what must be the tongue of hell but it doesn’t matter what it is. All he cares about is his body crowding Louis’. The shorter lad is backing away from him in hesitation, staring at him with big blue eyes that never seem to lose their charming glint. In lust and in love, they sparkle. They sparkle like the ocean when the sun is high, small waves rolling and soothing.

“Mine,” he murmurs, the water dripping on his eyes and on his mouth. His hair is covering his eyes but he can still feel Louis. He can feel the body that he has mapped out thousands of times. He feels the body that fits him like it’s meant to be curled up against his since forever. He can find him with his eyes closed, muscle memory it might be, because their lips can find each other anywhere. They kiss, it’s all tongue and growling and biting but Louis doesn’t protest. He’s pliant to Harry, always has been. He’s strong and big and loud, sometimes too loud for such a small body that contains him, but he’s always submissive to Harry. Always cursing and gasping and clutching, as if he’s going to die if he doesn’t hold onto Harry’s body.

He brings the two of them down, slowly and carefully, gripping on the small of Louis’ back so they don’t topple over. So they don’t slip and this doesn’t stop. Louis’ ass touches the bottom of the bath tub. He shuffles so his back is safely leaning against the corner. Harry knows his knees will bruise, and it’ll hurt after but he’s too wanting to care,  _too needy to care._  He pulls away and Louis is blinking at him, waiting patiently with his legs spread apart.

He brings two fingers into Louis’ mouth, “Suck,” he commands and Louis’ already sucking on his fingers, greedy and hungry, like a little child given a strawberry lolly to suck on. He pulls it out, filled with spit and he thrusts a finger up on Louis’ asshole, curling his fingers on the rim. Louis urges him to move, lowering his hips and meeting each of the thrust of his fingers. Louis’ eyes are glued shut, his body arching up as he chokes out a series of strangled noises.  _moremoremore_ he can hear Louis’ flesh shouting, screaming for him when he can barely speak for himself. He puts in a second finger, quickly followed by a third and Louis’ fingertips are gripping the rim of the tub, his knuckles white and his jaw slacking as he moans Harry’s name. Louis’ dick is laying on his soft belly, thick and begging to be touched. Louis’ swears and brings his hand to his cock but Harry swats it away with his free hand. Louis cries out and opens his eyes. He doesn’t speak but Harry can see it in his eyes, rimmed red and glistening, with water or with tears he doesn’t know. “Please … Haz …” he murmurs and Harry quickly palms his cock, he watches his face contort in pleasure and oversensitivity. Harry makes long dragging strokes, fast paced and Louis comes in strings of white and swearing and just  _feeling._

He jerks himself off quickly and he watches Louis with his closed eyes and hair sticking on his forehead. The water washes away the evidence of what just happened but it doesn’t matter because it’s imprinted on his mind, vivid and  _too real._

He towels Louis off, drying his hair and shoving him off playfully before pulling him in a chaste kiss.

When he pulls away, Louis doesn’t say anything because they don’t need words to understand each other. He just looks at Harry, with his eyes half-lidded and still bright blue and sparkling. He brings a hand to Harry’s chest and he holds it in his. It’s small compared to his, it almost feels like a child’s against his own hand. He brings it to his lips, kissing the pads that are pruned and wrinkled because of the water. Louis traces his lips, tapping on his cupid’s bow. He bites it playfully and Louis crinkles his nose in a soft smile. He looks like a kitten, all soft and gentle and adorable.

Harry chokes on the three words tightening and loosening on his heart,  _You deserve better._

He fucks him during midnight.

He spreads his legs like a porn star and he moans just like one.

The moon light is draping across his chest, sneaking from the open window. It’s a full moon, he thinks, even without turning his back from Louis. He threads through his hair, limp and sweaty, just the way he likes it. He kneads on Louis’ skin, gripping the flesh and the flexed muscle underneath. He ruts inside him like an animal, no control and all power. All passion and all emotion. He thrusts and he kisses Louis’ mouth, slipping a tongue and licking inside him. He can feel tears on Louis’ eyes, freefalling and landing on the pillows. He hesitates and his hips buckle, he wills himself to stop because Louis is crying. But Louis is pressing his legs wrapped around Harry, forcing him to move and his hands are clasped behind Harry’s nape. He thrusts and thrusts until Louis is sobbing and coming between their stomachs. He comes and he bites Louis’ shoulder, maybe out of habit. Or maybe because he needs to bite something, dig his teeth on something to stop himself from letting the words out.

Louis pulls him in close, tangling his legs with Harry’s. The sheets’ a mess of cum and sweat but they don’t bother standing up. Harry whispers with his lips against Louis’ neck and it disappears as fast as it slips, fading.  _I am yours._

 

It’s Liam’s birthday and his head is pounding. Louis is loud, too loud and he doesn’t want to come anywhere near him. He likes this Louis, likes it more than anything but he gets scared. It’s still Louis, but it’s not  _his_  Louis.

This Louis is shouting and swearing, singing along with people like he’s known them forever when he’s only known them for less than five minutes. He doesn’t even know their name but he is the life of the party, drunk and happy. He’s terrified, terrified that he’s going to lose his Louis to this one. Terrified that he’ll never come back to the soft and gentle Louis he has come to love.

But Louis catches his eye across the apartment and suddenly it doesn’t matter how loud Niall is, doing body shots somewhere in the living room, filled with drunken people swaying and screaming just because they can. The music is loud, pounding and booming on the thin walls as if they’re nothing but paper. It doesn’t matter that he can see Danielle and Eleanor pressed against each other and he can see a skirt hiking up. It doesn’t matter that Liam is holding Louis up and they are singing along together and dancing in a beat that doesn’t even match the playing music. It doesn’t matter because Louis is looking at him and smiling, mouthing “You alright?” He nods and he smiles and then he’s gone, drowned in the swarm of people hooking up and dancing, spilling drinks and falling against each other.

He comes to the balcony and he finds Zayn smoking in there.

“Do you mind?” Zayn asks, as if he’s going to put the lighted cigarette out.

He shakes his head. “Can I bum one?” Zayn pulls one from the breast pocket of his unbuttoned plaid shirt. It hangs loose on his shoulders, draped over his sleeveless undershirt.

He puts it between his lips and Zayn lights it. “It’s cold innit? Why’re you hiding out here?”

Zayn nods and he chuckles, “Liam doesn’t like it when I smoke. Been trying to make me quit. Says he won’t kiss a walking ashtray.”

“How long has it been?” he asks.

“What?”

“You and Liam, I mean.”

“Two months, more or less,” Zayn takes a long drag and the tip of the cigarette flickers brighter.

He knows that it has been two months, of course. It’s been two months since Liam started crashing in Zayn’s apartment. Slowly, all of Liam’s clothes and things are disappearing from his and Louis’ apartment but they can’t say they were surprised. It’s been two months since they’ve had the apartment to themselves.

Two months of kisses and hugs and hand holding. Eight weeks of fumbling and gasping and pleading and needing. Sixty days of pushing and pulling.

“Do you love him?” he asks as he blows the smoke, watching the fog it creates.

“I do.”

“Since when?”

“Since the first day I met him, I guess.”

“But why now?”

“Because now I don’t have a family that will stop us, no one’s going to hurt him.”

He looks at Zayn, confused.

“My father, he’s a controlling man. When I told him I fancied men like I fancy girls he went ballistic. He locked me in the storage for days. He kept hurting me, telling me to grow up and be straight.”

He doesn’t know what to say so Zayn continues, “But now he’s gone isn’t he Hazza?” he watches Zayn’s lips curve into a smile. “They left me but I’ve got Liam now.”

“Don’t you miss them?”

“I do. But you can’t have everything.”

It’s all silence and smoke after that for a while. The wind is howling and it’s growing colder.

“He loves you, you know,” Zayn says, putting his cigarette out. He can’t stop staring at the sky.

“You think so?” he says after a minute or two.

“I  _know_ so,” Zayn smiles walking back inside the apartment.

He doesn’t answer, instead he gives him a weak smile and looks back at the clear sky.

“You coming?” Zayn asks.

“Later,” he offers and Zayn goes back inside.

 

He breathes out into the cold night, closing his eyes as he took one last drag of the cigarette before putting it out.

He stares at the countless stars and he decides,  _I want to feel again._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter. if anyone was waiting (doubtful) i'm really really sorry for the long wait. anyways, thank you and kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated. i might even cry tbh but you won't see that and i'll just brush you off with thanks. anyways, here it is! enjoy reading x

He knows fear like the back of his hand. He knows it’s what he felt when he found himself starting to run, run away from everything. It’s fear, fear that brought him to hide. He knows that being afraid is what he felt when he was tearing up inside his room with his stepfather banging on the door with his huge fists. He can feel the tears falling like drops of rain from his eyes. Salty droplets that rushed from one to another, racing like the drops of rain caught in an umbrella or the window of their car. His knees are curled up to his face and he wanted to die, he wanted to choke on the spit and tears, he wanted to hurt himself for being so afraid but afraid he was and he couldn’t do shit about it. Because his mother was dying, his mother was sick and his sister was gone and he couldn’t blame anyone. He knew that if he fought back, his stepfather would throw them both out, and he couldn’t do that to his mother, he just can’t.

He knows anger. It’s the one he saw from Robin’s eyes every time he lashed out on him, when he was a drunken mess without a job. Red eyes and curled fists that shoved him to walls and the floor and furniture like he was nothing but a rag doll. He let him, he let him bruise him and wound him over and over because he has given up. Given up on the life he thought was so dandy and so easy when he was a little child. He was still little at the age of sixteen and he wanted to do something, of course he did. But he was little. Too small for his age, too brittle. His ribs poked out and his hip bones were prominent and he wondered if he still looks sixteen. If he looks worse than his mother who was greying so fast, withered and wrinkled. He knows Anger, met him too many times for his own good.

He knows sadness. When his mother died and he blamed himself for not doing anything for her, for not saving his poor mother. He wished that he was the one to die, he did. He wished that she’d taken him with her. Fondly, he thought of being with his father and his mother in heaven, because he knew they’d be there, they’d be in heaven because they were good people. His mother, Anne, was a good person, too good and suffered too much.  _She deserved to die_ , he thought. She deserved to die to finally rest, because what is life but a race, you have to go fast, to run faster than everyone else and dying is the last stop. Dying is a relief, a reward.

He knows emptiness. The couch, the bed, the apartment that feels too big and too solemn and too empty. He remembers wondering if there’s even a heart inside him. If his internal organs aren’t rotting and disappearing. Hollow, too hollow. He imagined an empty chest, an empty body, but never an empty head. Because he wants to remember how his mother used to laugh with his father, he wants to remember Gemma and her piercing glare, he wants to remember falling asleep in the couch and waking up in the bedroom. He wants to remember everything, everything from start to finish, right until he decided that he should grow up and stop believing that relief would come and he’d be rescued.  _There’s no salvation in dreaming of a family at all_ , he had said to himself over and over again when he’s trying to forget, to forget that no matter how much he tries to remember them, they’re not coming back to get him.

He knows numbness. It’s what he felt when he drinks way too much alcohol and he passes out in some alley without a friend to look out after him and yet he didn’t feel like having one. It’s apathy, he guessed, he has turned to apathy because what’s use is it to care for people after all? It’s every man for himself in the end after all.

One by one they take a piece of you, a vital part of you, maybe it’s the heart, maybe it’s the skull, maybe it’s the lungs or a kidney, maybe it’s the skin or the bones or the ligaments or the muscles, they take them away and you trust them to keep it for themselves. You trust them because they are important to you and you don’t blame them when they let it fall or rot or dust in the shelves. They still have it after all, they still do and that’s more important than polishing your internal organs or washing your skin with their blood after all. It’s more important but then they leave and they take it away, they don’t give it back even when you shout and scream as loud as you can. They don’t give in, people are selfish that way. They want to set it high up in their shelves like a trophy and they tell it to everyone who meets them, who goes to their house. They greet them with a “hi” before walking around the living room and waiting for the perfect moment to say “hey have you met Harry Styles?” Maybe they’ll say it with an underwear of yours in the living room or a picture of the two of you conveniently in his or her phone. Then after a few days, maybe a few weeks, or a few months they start looking for reasons, searching for an out, an escape route, an exit. They start picking on your manners, on your drinking, on your past and how you have a dead mother. They keep saying that they want you to open up but why? Why do they ask for so much more when you’re giving them everything you’ve got. Why do they always search for things you cannot give, maybe someday, maybe a little later you will, but  _not yet not yet_ , you keep saying. And they keep asking you to give it  _now now now._  Then they say you’re too broken to fix and you want to say  _please don’t give up on me_  while they’re picking up the loose clothes on the floor and taking another piece of you away from your own body, from your own soul. The lock will leave a soft click but it’ll ring in your ears and it feels like forever.

Then you decide that maybe, maybe they’ve gotten every piece of you, maybe you’re left with nothing and that’s why you feel nothing.  _Numb._ Numb enough to not get hurt again, numb enough to hurt other people and not apologize because  _i didn’t do anything wrong._

But now he wants to feel, he wants to feel everything and he doesn’t know if he can. Because love, what is love again?

Love is a mystery.

Love is blind.

Love is all that matters (faithful and forever).

He laughs bitterly, maybe gingerly, or maybe he just laughs.

Because he doesn’t know a thing about love after all these years. Nineteen years old and he still doesn’t know what love is. But he wants to know because what is life if there isn’t love? (He chuckles again for he thinks so highly of something he doesn’t know shit about.)

When he was four it was his daddy saying  _she’s so damn beautiful, isn’t she?_  while looking at his mother who was sweaty and nothing but a mess with her hair tied in a ponytail and a spatula in hand, struggling to flip the burgers off the non-stick pan.

When he turned six it was mum asking him  _do i look beautiful?_  while fitting a dress and applying make up for her date with daddy. And he said  _of course you do_  with a grin on his face because he knows that she doesn’t need the foundation she’s caking on her face or the blush on that makes her cheeks look rosy or the bright red lipstick or the tight black dress because daddy said she looks  _damn beautiful_ when she was not even trying to look good. But he doesn’t say it to his mother and he just smiles at his father who’s waiting at the living room as if they’re sharing an inside joke. Gemma twirls her tiny fingers on her mother’s curls and she asks if she’ll ever be as pretty as her mother and Harry whispers  _you already are_  under his breath but when his sister asks  _what did you say?_  he replies with  _you never will_ with his tongue stuck out because that’s what little brothers are for. Gem runs after him and it’s good, it’s good because they wrestle and she pinches his nose and she shouts  _victory!!_  with him pinned down the living room floor and their parents look at them fondly before leaving and saying  _be good, yeah? we’ll be back._

When he was eight it was Gemma pouting and messily putting lipstick on her lips in front of the mirror before kissing the pink envelope she was going to give to a boy named  _tony_. If it was possible to literally have heart eyes then she was definitely doing it, definitely. But she came home and ate tons of ice cream that day and she removed the pink ribbon on her hair and she ripped her dress apart saying _it’s his loss it’s his loss it’s his fucking loss_  anyways. He’d tell their parents that she cursed but he didn’t because she was crying over and over again and she didn’t want to come out until it was the next day and she looked like a mess but he told her she was pretty. She glared at him for the rest of the week but it doesn’t matter because Gemma will always be pretty.

But then the devil put its curse upon his family and every single shit that could happen, happened and he decided, love is shit and there are better things to do than fall in love.

But now, now Zayn says Louis loves him and it should count for something right? It should because everyone else continues making such a big deal out of love, therefore it should be important and big and grand as can be. Louis loves him and he wants to say that he feels the same but how does one know that he’s in love?

Maybe there should be butterflies like they always say because Niall says that’s how he feels when he sees food and Louis always says that Niall loves food. But he wouldn’t say that’s actually _falling in love_ is it?

Maybe it’s when Zayn hides from Liam whenever he smokes because he doesn’t want Liam to see that he’s smoking again when Liam’s trying to make him quit so badly.

Maybe it’s when Liam simply pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head before fondly smiling when he finds a cigarette burn in one of his favourite shirts, or remnants of ashes in the shower, or the lingering smell of smoke in the balcony or in the kitchen. He doesn’t shout at Zayn or hit him for not obeying what he says and hiding because he understands he says, he understands.  _The bastard doesn’t want me to worry_ , he sing songs when Harry asks if he’s mad about Zayn smoking behind his back. It doesn’t matter he guesses, it doesn’t matter if you love someone.

Maybe it’s Danielle waking up early to wake Eleanor up for classes or working two shifts a day when Eleanor’s busy with coursework. Danielle says you have to make sacrifices when you love someone, and she says that happily, as if that’s the best thing you can do in your entire life.  _Sacrifice_ , that’s something you do when you’re in love, so Harry takes a note of that.

Maybe it’s Eleanor saying sorry over and over again to Danielle for not being able to be there for her birthday because she was slaving away with her thesis. She makes up for it because she doesn’t want Danielle to feel like she’s forgotten about her. She makes up for it and she stays with Danielle the whole day even when Dani says that it doesn’t matter and that she understands. Maybe understanding is love, Harry wonders.

Maybe it’s when Louis doesn’t ask for  _more more more_  because he understands. Sometimes they’d be tangled in bed and Harry wants to choke out the  _i love you_  that’s burning against his tongue but he couldn’t and Louis touches his cheek and whispers at him  _don’t force yourself, love_  or  _one at a time darling, one at a time_  or  _there’s always time for everything_. Because that’s what Louis is, he doesn’t force Harry to do anything, he waits patiently and he reminds Harry of that passage from the bible. _Love is patient_.

He knows he loves Louis. He knows he does. He just  _knows._  But he needs to know something except that. He wants to define it, to be sure of it, to find meaning.

 _What do I feel about Louis?_ he writes in a paper at the music store. Ed is staring at him like he’s a lunatic but who cares? He’s pretty sure the guy is in love with records after all.

he makes my heart skip a beat

He writes it because that song by Olly Murs is playing but he scratches it out because it maybe true but silly, yes that’s the word, it’s silly and it doesn’t quite cover everything he feels about Louis.

Louis the guy who makes him want to smile every single time without fail even without trying. Louis who shouted at him the first time they met about cutting off a certain part of his body when he has mistaken him for Liam. Louis who walks barefooted across the apartment and shakes his jogger-clad ass because he wants to make Harry laugh. Louis who looks interesting even when he’s just tapping on his laptop or drowning in papers and inks and pens. Louis who writhes and begs and takes it all because he knows Harry likes it. Louis who loves him and he knows he loves.

Louis who makes him want to live.

Who makes him try.

“Maybe love is trying,” he says out loud for Ed and Niall to hear.

“Is that what Louis makes you feel?” Niall snorts but he nods.

“Then it is,” Ed replies.

So he says it to Louis that night. A week after Liam’s birthday he says it to Louis.

“I love you.”

He expects it to sound unpleasant, to make Louis run away and hide like he always felt like doing when someone told him that they love him. He expects it to sound like a curse, a burden, anything, anything but good and great and grand. But it sounds light, fleeting, it sounds like  _heaven_  for fuck’s sake.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” the older boy says but he’s already walking towards him with a smirk on his face.

“You’re an ass, you know,” he tries but he knows that he’s blushing so hard judging by the way his face feels like it’s burning.

He looks away but Louis’ already there in front of him, a few inches shorter and a few sizes smaller than him but still manages to topple his world upside down and drown him in those blue eyes. Too bright, Louis is always too bright.

“But you loooooove meeee,” Louis sing songs, inches apart from him.

“Shut up you ass. If I had known-“ he starts but Louis is already kissing him, fisting on the chest of his shirt and curling his fingers there.

They kiss, messily and hungrily but Louis pulls away as soon as he started kissing him and he follows his lips, searching, he’s always searching for things he notices.

“I love you too, you dickhead. I thought you’d never say it, ever.” Louis is giggling and he wants to hold him right where he is so he does, his fingertips gripping Louis’ waist, hands tucked inside the thin white shirt.

“If I hadn’t said it sooner, would you have left though?” he asks before he could stop himself. Because he’s always searching, remember? Always searching for answers.

Louis steals a quick kiss on his lips, the hands that were previously tightened on his chest now curling on his nape, drawing circles.

“I’d love to say that I would have left, just to see your reaction. And for the sake of my dignity that I love thinking I still have. But I doubt I would have left. I would have been patiently waiting till I’m old and grey.”

He presses his forehead on Louis’ and he smirks, “Which is like what? Two years from now?”

Louis pinches the skin on his nape but he’s laughing, they’re both laughing.

That night he lets Louis manhandle him. He lets him undress him slowly, taking his time. He lets him do everything because that’s something he never did with anyone else. He wants to show him that he trusts him, maybe he’ll say it with words later, and he will but for now he wants to show it with everything but words. Because words can go wrong, misinterpreted and lost in incoherence, but actions cannot be, it can be denied with words but it cannot deny itself of the truth that it projects.

Louis doesn’t manhandle him though, not exactly. He’s gentle, ever so gentle.

He kisses slow, slow and languid like they have every time in the world and as if his not achingly hard even though it’s pressing against Harry’s thigh, begging to be held. He struggles, sometimes his hips stutter and he ruts against Harry’s hips but he stops himself in time. He lets Harry curl his fingers to his side, but he doesn’t let him take control, not that Harry is going to try. He never knew he loves this, because he’s always big, too big and he’s all lean and long torso and bones and muscles, but he loves being taken care of. He loves being the small one, the submissive one, but he never trusted anyone before Louis enough to let them do it.

Louis trails kisses, down his neck, collarbone, chest, the inside of his arm, his stomach, his thighs, everywhere, everywhere but his cock that’s already leaking on his stomach.

“Lou …Lou …” he says looking down at Louis who’s pressing his hips down the mattress.

“What?” Louis looks up at him, his voice tinged with smug and amusement.

“Please. Please.”

“Please what?” and he doesn’t know why but he loves Louis for it. For making him wait and beg.

“Please don’t tease.”

He struggles getting the words out but it’s worth it because Louis licks a fat stripe on the underside of his cock and it makes his head swirl around. It swims in words of let go,  _let go._

Louis laps on the tip and shoves it all in his throat and Harry forces his nails down in the sheets, twisting and fumbling instead of threading it in Louis’ hair. Harry knows he’s about to come, he knows he is and he wants to shout  _stop_  but he doesn’t trust his voice, not when his breathing is shallow and he’s panting so hard.

But Louis pulls away with a loud pop, “Turn around” he says and Harry follows. He decided he’s going to let go, so he’s letting go of all inhibitions and all questions and all reasons and excuses.

He’s on his hands and knees and he’s expecting Louis to fumble for the lube anytime now, expecting Louis to fuck him straight away and that’s when he feels it. Louis’ tongue is on his hole, teasing, circling. Louis’ hands are on his ass cheeks, spreading him even wider as if his trembling thighs can still handle it. He lets one hand go and it starts alternating. His fingers deftly coming in and out and his tongue lapping on the hole every now and then. Harry wonders if he can come from just this, his face pressed on the pillow, to muffle the cries and the moans and the groans that’s coming out of his mouth.

Louis stops and asks him to lie down and he’s thankful because he doesn’t really know if he can still continue holding himself up when he can barely breathe.

Louis slicks himself up with the lube on the bedside table and he pushes in, slowly. He takes his time, and he presses a kiss on Harry when he notices the grimace on his face. Every touch, every kiss, every gasp he gives as an apology. He starts moving, dragging out and rolling in, slowly but with conviction. As if every thrust is meant to hit Harry’s prostate and it does and it does and he wonders why he has never done it before. How come he never bottomed before and he reasons it out with _because it wasn’t Louis before._

When he comes he comes harder than he ever did, he swears he blacks out for a moment and when he doesn’t say anything, Louis rolls off of him, throws the condom in the bin and he lies down beside him, tangling their fingers together.

He feels like he wants to thank something, or say something at least, but Louis ruins the moment with, “I’m so good I got you speechless.”

“Y-you think so highly of yourself,” his heart is beating wildly, post sex high is such a bitch.

“You still can’t breathe, and you keep saying I’m the old one,” Louis is laughing.

He decides  _making Louis laugh_  should be his life-long ambition.

“I still have something to tell you,” he says but Louis cuddles to him, all sweaty and sticky, murmuring _one at a time remember? one at a time._

He falls asleep without any worry that night, and he dreams in colour just like it has always been since he met Louis, but this time it’s even more  _vivid._

In the morning he finds Louis humming a made up song wearing Harry’s shirt that’s too big for him.

He tells him everything.

Everything.

And when he’s done he asks Louis if anything has changed and Louis tells him  _i fell in love with you. i’m not here to criticize about the choices you made in the past. it’s the past. it’s a part of you but the decisions you made does not define you or who you are in the present and who you will be in the future. i love you, i will always do_ and he cries and Louis just holds him and kisses the top of his head murmuring  _you idiot_  and he just smiles because Louis isn’t going to be Louis if he doesn’t say something as sentimental as that and ruin it by calling him an idiot right after.

One night when they’re lazing on the couch and Niall is making gagging noises at Liam and Zayn who are looking at each other with heart eyes, Louis asks him, “What are you doing?”

“What?” he says as if hypnotized.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to read my future. Is my boyfriend secretly into palm reading and card reading and sorcery?” That’s when he notices that he has been tracing the lines inside Louis’ palm over and over again.

“I’m trying to make sure I’m in your future, see?” he says as he traces his name on Louis’ palm.

“Oh my God, that’s so fucking cheesy. I hate you,” Louis says but his fond look says otherwise.

“Okay okay no funny business, alright? We’re going to watch a movie and I want to watch it without hearing any sex noise or moans or groans or anything,” Niall sits in the middle of the couch, effectively separating each from their partners. They mock-protest but they smile anyways.

If they show up with a tattoo of each other’s names on their palms (a small  **LOUIS**  on Harry’s left palm and a  **HARRY**  on Louis’ right) a month later and everyone teases them of being so cliché-ly in love, they don’t say anything because they both know it’s the truth.

If they show up a year later with rings on both of their fingers and Louis insists that it was Harry who got down on one knee and proposed, Harry doesn’t say anything and he just smiles knowingly because he knows the truth.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr (louisfuckingstyles) see you there :) x


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